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THE ALDINE EDITION 

OF THE BRITISH 

POETS 

THE POEMS OF THOMAS PARNELL 




iT. Robins on. sc. 




- 



THE POETICAL WORKS OF 
THOMAS PARNELL 



ALDI 




LONDON 

WILLIAM PICKERING 
1833 




1 k\ 



#* 



CHARLES WHITT1NGHA?.I, 
LONDON. 



CONTENTS. 



Page 

Dedicatory Epistle to the Rev. Alexander Dyce ... i 

Life of Parnell, by the Rev. John Mitford 33 

To the Right Hon. Robert, Earl of Oxford, and Earl 

Mortimer 1 

Hesiod ; or, The Rise of Woman 3 

Song, " When thy beauty appears" 15 

Song, " Thyrsis, a young and amorous swain" 15 

Song, "My days have been so wondrous free" 17 

Anacreontic, " When spring came on with fresh 

delight" 19 

Anacreontic, " Gay Bacchus, liking Estcourt's wine" . 22 

A Fairy Tale, in the ancient English style 25 

The Vigil of Venus, written in the time of Julius 

Cassar, and by some ascribed to Catullus 33 

Homer's Batrachomuomachia ; or, The Battle of the 

Frogs and Mice, Book 1 45 

II 53 

III 59 

To Mr. Pope 67 

A Translation of part of the First Canto of the Rape of 
the Lock, into Leonine Verse, after the manner of the 

ancient Monks 71 

Health; an Eclogue 74 

The Flies ; an Eclogue 77 

An Elegy, to an Old Beauty 80 

The Book-worm 83 

An Allegory on Man 87 



VI CONTENTS. 

Page 

An Imitation of some French Verses 91 

A Night-piece on Death 93 

A Hymn to Contentment 97 

The Hermit 100 

Piety; or, The Vision . 130 

Bacchus; or, The Drunken Metamorphosis.. 115 

Dr. Donne's Third Satire versified 119 

On Bishop Burnet's being set on Fire in his Closet 125 

On Mrs. Arabella Fermor leaving London 126 

Chloris appearing in a Looking-glass 127 

The Life of Zoilus, and his Remarks on the Battle of 
the Frogs and Mice 12.9 



IGNOSCENDA ISTH.EC AN COGNOSCENDA REARIS 

ATTENTO DKEPANI PERLEGE JUDICIO 
./EQUANIMUS FIAM TE JUDICE SIVE LEGENDA 

SIVE TEGENDA PUTES CARMINA QU.E DEDIMUS 
POSSUM EGO CENSURAM LECTORIS FERRE SEVERI 

ET POSSUM MODICA LAUDE PLACERE MIHI 

AUSON1US C. L. DREPANO PAR. PROL. 



EPISTLE 

TO THE 

REV. ALEXANDER DYCE, A.B. 



" Come, with that pensive brow, that forehead fair, 
And that rich length of dark redundant hair ; 
Come, with those winning graces that enthralled, 
And held my poor heart captive :" — so he call'd 
To her who could not hear ; yet not the less, 
In dream and nightly vision he would press 
Her matron lip of love, and he would strain 
Her faithful bosom to his breast again, 
Till Hope itself was fled, and, day by day, 
The soft illusion melted all away. 

Friend of my heart ! to you I pour the strain 
That wakes the Poet's widow'd griefs again ; 
Here in this breast his mirror'd sorrows see, 
Each fond complaint again revives in me. 
My heart reflects the melancholy line, 
And more than half of Parnell's grief is mine. 
With twinkling light behold, at midnight hour 
The lamp is burning in the Poet's tower ; 
Pale o'er the page his studious brow is bent, 
His eye still scans the sage's dark intent, 

b 



DEDICATOHY EPISTLE. 



Dreaming with Plato,- -was it but a dream? 
Or him who, wandering by Cephisus' stream, 
Gave to the listening vales the deep Socratic 
theme. 



Say what sweet voice the wearied heart shall cheer, 
Win the glad smile, or wake affection's tear ; 
What form shall glide within the half-clos'd door, 
What small light footstep press the silent floor : 
What ivory arm around his neck shall twine, 
And say, or seem to say,-— this hour is mine ! 
What voice shall cry,— away, my love, away ! "1 
The nightingale is now on every spray, 
Come, hear the enchanter's song, and welcome in f 

the May! 
Ah ! say why here do art and nature pour 
Their charms conjoin'd in many a varied store; 
Why bloom, by Flora's hand adorn'd, my bowers, 
Why dance my fountains,and why laugh my flowers? 
Along each velvet lawn and opening glade 
Why spreads the cedar his immortal shade? 
The brooks that warble, and the hills that shine, 
Charm every heart, and please each eye but mine. 



Though gleams the page by jealous time unroll'd, 
Where the long shelves expand their rows of gold, 
Tho' their rich leaves the pictur'd missals spread 
With knightly tale, and gothic legend fed ; 
Woe to the wight who once those witching tales 
has read ! 



DEDICATORY EPISTLE. Ill 

Tho' round each latticed bower and shaded room, 
Soft airs waft fragrant with the citron bloom. 
Their bright festoons the flowery woodbines braid, 
Wed tree to tree, and join the distant shade. 
While from each sculptur'd urn, in beauteous row, 
The rich geranium spreads its scarlet glow : 
Beneath the southern sash the myrtle bears 
Our ruder winters and inclement airs. 
Though round the walls the pictur'd tablets shine, 
And all the wealth of Titian's art is mine ; 
Yet no sweet voice its silver music wakes, 
O'er my fond eye no form of beauty breaks, 
No gentle hand my morning meal prepares, 
My studious noon, my evening saunter shares ; 
No steps of gladness wander through the grove, 
No lute is sounding from the soft alcove, 
And when the summer sun sinks down to rest, 
This cheek lies piilow'd on no loved one's breast. 

Poet and friend ! from every haunted grove, 
Where, wild of wing, young fancy loves to rove ; 
Where'er thy devious footsteps wont to stray, 
Each muse, each grace, companions of thy way, 
Pause o'er the page which friendship gives to fame, 
And mark the verse inscribed with Parnell's name. 
See the poor minstrel leave his silent towers, 
His moss-grown gardens, and neglected bowers. 
Pleas'd for awhile with pilgrim-steps to roam, 
He found in Twickenham's groves a dearer home, 
And sooth'd alike by friendship and the muse, 



IV DEDICATORY EPISTLE. 

For one brief moment would his sorrows lose : 
With St. John's converse the slow hours beguile, 
And win with song approving Harley's smile. 
Yet duly, where the evening willows wave, 
Seek the lone grot, and weep o'er Anna's grave. 

46 Where dost thou flow (methinks his voice I hear), 

Thou nameless brook,whose warbles soothe my ear ; 

Where spread, thou soft and visionary scene, 

Thy gentle lawns and sunny slopes of green. 

How wild the music steals from yonder vale ! 

What sweets are breathing in that western gale ! 

Why gleams thy spire, sweet hamlet yet un- 
known ; 

Ah ! might I call thy pastoral charms my own ! 

Find in thy shades the long forsaken lyre, 

And wake to nobler flights the sleeping wing of 
fire." 

So duly as the vernal blossoms smile, 
And win to gladness our reluctant isle, 
When Venus wakes her loveliest smiles again, 
Mounts her bright car, and calls her roseate train ; 
Charm'd by thy voice, I leave my books and bowers, 
Well pleas'd with thee to share the social hours, 
Secure to find (so close our fates agree), 
The friend, and such as Parnell found, in thee. 

Say (for thou know'st), how glides the various day, 
How time, with thee conversing, steals away. 
And oh ! recall (too swift our pleasures fl y,) 






DEDICATORY EPISTLF. V 

Those kindlier seasons and that softer sky. 
Through the long morn, from art to art we roam, 
(For genius here has ever found a home). 
See grace and truth young Newton's brows en- 

wreathe, 
From Chantrey's hand the soften'd marble breathe ; 
The wond'ring stranger pausing as he cries, 
Tis he — the friend long lost — that smile, those 

eyes 
Restor'd are his, — ah ! now he time defies ! 
Pleas'd we behold another Reynolds shine, 
Lamented Lawrence ! in each touch of thine ; 
So pure, so true, the aerial colours fall, 
And blend with life the animated wall ; 
Flush'd with rich Nature's hues, the temper'd ray 
Steals into shade, and softly melts away. 
From Peel's fair eyes such streams of radiance " 

flow, [glow, 

On Richmond's cheek such bright carnations 
While Genius builds his throne on Canning's 

thoughtful brow. 

Or if the Tragic Muse her sceptre wield, 
All eye — all ear — intent with tears, I yield 
To Kemble's charms — Nature with Art — I hear 
Siddons revived again ; — and now appear 
(Would he had seen her, but he is no more ; 
Whom I remember on the midnight floor, 
Breathless, with dagger clutch'd, and dripping 

gore ; 
Would he had seen her — but the silent bier 



VI DEDICATORY EPISTLE. 

Hath pass'd Lausanne's still waters) — now appear 
Each 'sweet reflected form that Shakespeare drew ; 
Verona's pallid flower surcharged with dew, 
Young Juliet — ere her bridal robes were worn, *\ 
Sleeping with death — alas ! that fatal morn ! 
And she whom Hamlet lov'd, the Danish maid j 
forlorn. 

Sweets to the sweet ! — not flowers, but tears we pay, 
Charm'd by Thalia's laughing eyes away. 
The goddess comes ! ah ! let not that gay smile, 
Breathing each varied grace, thy heart beguile ; 
Though Mirth and Pleasure kindle on her brow, 
Though bright the gleams of love and laughter glow, 
Yet thou each soft seductive glance distrust, 
And feel that beauty is not always just. 
E'en as I speak, behold the Enchantress flies, 
While at her feet departing pleasure lies. 
Ah ! had she still adorn'd the comic scene, 
Then all that Oldfield was, had Mordaunt been. 
The Poet's page had hail'd her growing fame, 1 
And future Drydens dignified a name, 
Of beauty more profuse, and more secure from I 
blame. J 

One moment linger ! — lo ! from Venus' bowers 
Descends the youngest of the roseate Hours : 
She comes in all her blushing beauty borne, 
From the far fountains of the purple morn. 
Aurora's self! what time her brow resumes, 



DEDICATORY EPJSTLE. Vll 

The bright refulgence of its golden plumes. 
Sylph of the earth ! — the sky! — and oh ! as fair 
And beauteous as her sisters of the air. 
In that sweet form what varied graces meet, 
Love in her eye, and music in her feet. 
Light as the bounding fawn along the lea, 
Or lithe bird glancing on the summer tree, 
Light as the foam when Venus leaves the wave, 
Or blossoms fluttering over April's grave. 
Mark on yon rose lights the celestial tread, 
The trembling stalk but just declines its head. 
Sweet Ariel floats above her as she springs. 
And wafts the flying fair, and lends her wings. 
Now wreath'd in radiant smiles she seems to 

glide, 
With buoyant footstep, like Favonius' bride, 
Or Psyche, zephyr-borne to Cupid's blushing 

side. 

Her light symar in lucid beauty streams, 
Of woven air, so thin the texture seems ; 
Round her small waist the zone young Iris binds, 
And gives the sandals that command the winds ; 
A thousand voices challenge Music's throne 



! 



Daughter of Air ! this empire is thine own, 
Here Taglioni reigns unrivall'd and alone. j 

Now either park invites — to deck yon plain, 
See all Palladio's skill revived again. 
There the bright palace rears its regal state, 
The sculptur'd column and the trophied gate, 



Vlll DEDICATORY EPISTLE. 

Spreads the rich frieze in marble beauty round, 
And calls the distant quarry from the ground. 
Each mirror'd wall in silver lustre blooms, 
And Persia blushes through her flow'ry looms.. 
There the blue lake reflects the growing scenes, 
The glittering terraces, and pendant greens, 
How glow its banks ! how winds each opening glade, 
Thro' blooming thickets, and thro' walks of shade ; 
A bolder shore the admiring waters lave, 
And the green island trembles in the wave. 
Mark, where new vistas ope, new temples rise, 
And Athens smiles beneath our northern skies. 
The Enchanter calls ! — the mountain waves its 

brow, 
Through softer vales the obedient rivers flow ; 
Yon bending arch,where Thames his tribute pours, 
Spans the long wave, and weds the opposing 

shores, 
Pleas'd he receives his granite yoke again, 
And glides with gentler murmur to the main. 
Now in thy calm suburban walks we stray, 
Or catch from beauty's lips the warbled lay, 
When masque and music close the long declining 

day. 



From yon grey Abbey mark the glittering beam, 
O'er the rich shrines with ruby lustre stream, 
Lighting the oriel ; — tread, ah ! gently tread ! 
Each stone a scholar's, or a soldier's bed. 
Yon time-worn tombs, and sculptured marbles hold 



DEDICATORY EPISTLE. IX 

Names, 'mid the mightiest of the earth enroll'd, 
Warrior and sage ; the eloquent and strong; 
Ah ! only weak, least valour lead to wrong. 
The lips that once admiring nations heard, 
The arm, whose strength retreating legions fear'd. 
There lies the lightning glance that Rodney flung, 
There sleep the thunders of a Chatham's tongue. 
Firm 'mid corruption's cry, 'mid faction's band, 
The unshaken Abdiel of a faithless land. 
(A voice once heard — silent how many a year, "1 
In the mute senate listening — ' wouldst thou hear Y 
Tully, or him of Tarsus, now draw near !' J 

Crouch'd the pale minions then — he stood alone 
And shook the impending tempest from the throne. 
There meek as wise, in all his wisdom just, 
And true to nature, there is Newton's dust. 
At every step the exulting breast shall glow, 
No vulgar weakness force the tear to flow. 
The blameless bard, the unblemish'd statesman, all 
Whose hearts responsive throbb'd at Freedom's 
There lie — alike their task of duty done, [call, 
A Somers here, and there an Addison. 
To Virtue's eye, awful the dust appears, 
The gather'd treasure of a thousand years ; 
Honour'd , but not deplor'd !— ah ! where enshrin'd 
As there, the immortality of mind ! 
The Patriot's breast, the Poet's tongue declare 
That half the glory of the world is there. 

With awe we visit, oft unmark'd the name, 
Each spot that Genius consecrates to fame ; 



X DEDICATORY EPISTLE. 

The bleeding scaffold, or the dungeon's gloom, 
The sacred glories of the martyr's tomb. 
Where, when the fires of death more fiercely rise"| 
Sweet Hope, with bosom calm and radiant eyes, J* 
Absolves the doubtful justice of the skies. J 

There shine, where Sidney fell, the opprobrious 
There the grey virtue of a Cranmer calls ; [walls, 
Forms how benign attend his closing years, 
Majestic sorrows — penitential tears ! 
Tender remorse, and soft upbraidings sent "] 

By the contrite heart, and conscience rightly bent, [• 
Fetching forgiveness home through punishment. J 
There Russell stood — while love and beauty nigh, 
Watch'd each low word, and caught each chang- 
ing eye* 
Gaz'd on the gleaming axe, the headsman's frown, 
And the rich blood that stain'd the tyrant's crown. 
In yon dim aisle unmark'd a Milton sleeps ; 
O'er Rawleigh's grave indignant virtue weeps, 
Greatest, when all were great — serene and gay,l 
There More, unmov'd beheld life's closing day, 
And frowning on his foes, great Strafford stood 
at bav. 



Nor be the names unhonour'd in the page 
Of faithful memory, calling back her age 
With tears of holy joy and love divine ! 
To hang a pensive wreath upon the shrine 
Of them who put — in hard affliction tried — 
Crosier, and crown, and jewell'd robe aside; 
Begging with earnest zeal to be denied. 



i 

i 



DEDICATORY EPISTLE. XI 

Left all, and fled — fled to life's holier shade, 
Changing the sceptre for the peasant's spade. 
Perchance a monarch on his throne to-day, "1 
To-morrow, what? a hermit lone and grey, J- 
Asking of heaven in penitence to pray. J 

And such was he whom time could never wrong, 
(His name would sanctify the weakest song), 
Who left high Lambeth's venerable towers, 
For his small heritage and humble bowers, 
Conscience and faith his guide — and what if now, 
Taking the mitre from his aged brow, 
(Crowds round his knees, and many a furrow'd 

cheek, 
And glist'ning eye, that seem'd indeed to speak 
Better than language, seeing him depart, 
In the meek sorrows of a silent heart : 
Soft gentle deeds, blossoms of love, that hung 
Ever around him, — could they want a tongue ? 
Tears too from childhood, and the words that call, 
' Father and Friend' — were heard alike from all.) 
Gently he pass'd beside them, with a mien 
Temper'd with hope and fortitude serene ; 
Nor deem him unattended with a train 
Of more sublime emotions, free from pain 
Of doubt or fear, — like an unclouded day ~] 

Upon the golden hills in endless ray, > 

A well-spring in his heart without decay ; J 

As one who knew that god a home had made 
For those he cherish'd, in the humblest shade. 
Now with his staff, on his paternal ground, 



Xll DEDICATORY EPISTLE. 

Amid his orchard trees he may be found 

An old man late return'd, where he was seen "1 

Sporting a child upon the village green. !- 

How many a changeful year had pass'd between, J 

Blanching his scattered hairs — yet leaving there 

A heart kept young by piety and prayer ; 

That to the inquiring friend could meekly tell, 1 

"Be not for me afflicted— it is well : > 

For in my great integrity I fell. J 

'Twas in my great integrity I made 

The choice that sends me to my native shade." 

Lo ! Themis hall ! — there the coif 'd serjeant 

draws 
Through winding eloquence the Norman laws. 
Yet Justice there, severely kind, repairs 
The widow's wrongs, and dries the orphan's tears. 
Leans with delight on Eldon's honoured name 
(So wise his counsel, so mature his fame), 
And owns (forgot the breath of public rage) 
The more than Hardwicke of a later age. 
Time-honour'd thou shalt be ! — and though thy 

years 
May now speak no continuance, and the fears 
Of good men hang around thee — though a line, 
Written by me, shall meet no eye of thine : 
Yet will I in my gratitude, thy name 1 

(Oh 1 that my verse were lasting, and that fame J- 
Went with it), unto all in praise proclaim. J 
While others speak thee, wise and learn 'd, of 

law 



DEDICATORY EPISTLE. Xlll 

Arbiter, such as England seldom saw. 
(Mute silence list'ning, and each dubious plea, 
Taken by reason to thy firm decree) 
Statesman and sage — a better, I will lend 
A higher title still — the generous friend. 

The summer sun is set — dark autumn shrouds 
His dripping pinions in the southern clouds. 
Thro* the pale woods the showers of foliage sweep, 
And the rough surge is whitening all the deep. 
Now round the social fire, and steaming urn, 
O'er fragrant cups the studious lamp we burn ; 
Or dream of days (ah ! why should fate deny !) 
Long days beneath Ausonia's golden sky. ' 
On Mincio's banks, at shut of evening hours, 
The bee is sleeping in his ark of flowers : 
Past are the Julian hills — and to ! the plain 
Spreading by soft Adeste's green domain. 
Now with the shepherd on Soracte's brow, ~] 
Gazing the marble city ; now below, L 

Where Tiber's pale and silent waters flow. J 
With nicest taste our evening banquet glows, 
From the rich flask old Gascon's vintage flows. 
And though the stars are set, we still prolong 
The cheerful converse and instructive song ; 
With many a tale the friendly feast refine, 
And jest that sparkles in the flowing wine. 
Yet ours to scorn the foul insatiate stain 
Insidious Circe, and her siren train. 
Chaste are the guests the timid muses bring, 
And chaste as crystal dews, Apollo's spring. 



Xlv DEDICATORY EPISTLE. 

Thus pleas'd we hail our W-lm-t's gifts refin'd, 
So bright his numbers, and so pure his mind. 
Gentle and good ! if greater praise they be 
Or more enduring, it belongs to thee, 
Accomplish'd W-lm-t ! — thy serener eye 
Unmov'd beholds each tempting pleasure nigh. 
Far from the fears that softer minds await, 
With the sweet muse and sounding lyre elate. 
Oh, eloquent of song ! whose dawning ray 
Now burns and brightens into purer day ; 
Not thine the lover's flower-encircled chain, "] 
Long years consum'd at beauty's feet in vain, 
Delusive hopes, and pleasure's laughing train : 
Not thine the Teian blooms, the Lesbian wreath 
Bedew 'd with wine, and rich with beauty's breath, 
Charms not thine ear the sweet Provencal tale, 
Nor Arno warbling down the Etrurian vale ; 
Young love in vain his myrtle wand supplies, 
In vain her spells the soft enchantress tries, 
Though the bright shaft is wing'd with light from ! 
B-g-t's eyes. 

We read alternate, and alternate hear 
Songs that might win attention's choicest ear ; 
Rich with the spoils of all Castalia's dew. 
And truths that haughty Athens only knew. 
Those tragic strains, worthy the Delphic shrine, 
Of Thebes, and Pelops' race, and Troy divine ; 
And not unheard the surge's midnight roar 
Breaking on the proud solitude, that bore [shore. 
The warrior's wounded cries from Lemnos' rockv^ 



DEDICATORY EPISTLE. XV 

Cruel Leucadia ! and ye winds that sweep 
Round every Grecian isle, and hallow'd steep ! 
Why mourn'd ye not, when injur'd beauty gave 
Her glory, and her genius to the wave ; 
Why heard unmov'd the immortal notes expire, 
The burning breath of love, the setherial song of 

fire ! 
Each mystic spring that feeds the Aonian well 
Is ours — the music of Gyrene's shell ; 
Or that, the later lay thou lov'st, that told 
Of those brave kings, and of the fleece of gold, I 
Their prows to Phasis turn'd, ploughing the 

Euxine old. 

Gazing the wondrous barque, — the Centaur band 
Shake their huge manes, and stamp the oozy strand ; 
Loud conchs are sounding from each mountain cave, 
And through the glittering woods barbaric lances 
Or if the Dorian reed delight thine ear, [wave. 
The shadowy vales, and wild birds warbling near. 
The sparkling streams that down their channel 

shine, 
The murmur of the bee, the whispering pine, 
And sun-gilt cliffs purpled with many a vine, 
Sweet violet banks beside the silver wave, 
And fountains flashing from their rocky cave. 
While satyr-forms, and sounds of sylvan feet 
Pass by, and nymphs flying with sandals fleet. 

Leave Phasidamus, and the stream that shines 
Of old Anapus, and the murmuring pines ! 



XVI DEDICATORY EPISTLE. 

And let the Syracusan shepherd sleep 

Where through cool grots the glancing waters leap ! 

Now wake the harp that Chios loved to Jiear 

In his lone caves, (no doubtful legend fear) 

When Time himself was young — by Meles' stream 

An old blind man was sitting ; while a gleam 

(It was Apollo's) lit his cheek, and young 

And old around in mute attention hung ; f 

Ionian girls were with him as he sung, J 

Each with her lover, and with lips apart 

All stood, and breathless, and with beating heart. 

Gods ! 'twas a witching tale ! — of heaven-built 

Troy 
And bright-hair'd Helen, and the shepherd boy 
From Ida's shores, and how the billowy tide 
For her he crost, and beckoning to the bride, 
* Come to green Ida's pines, my couch is there' 

he cried. 
Beautiful Helen ! by thy shepherd's cave 
Ah ! wilt thou dream with me of Simois' fairer 



wave 



? 



And leaning on thy lover's bosom say, 
While round thy feet its sparkling waters play, 
4 * For ever, gentle stream , ah ! here for ever stray ." j 
Then did the minstrels of the house lament, 
As from her bower the queen of beauty went, 
Went, gliding with soft footstep, and unseen, 
Fled with her lover o'er the ocean green. 
And he who home returning, in his gate 
Found sorrow, and a hearth all desolate ; 



DEDICATORY EPISTLE. XVII 

Disgrac'd by her he lov'd — forsaken — left, 
Of all the treasure of his heart bereft ; 
O'er her pale statue (she was imag'd there, ~j 
E'en in his hall) gazing with mute despair, I 
Her damask'd chambers of their mistress bare, J 
Her handmaids weeping round, — with tearful eye, 
He knew the nuptial bower, and left it with a 
sigh. 

Then the red beacons wav'd their beards of flame, 
Then o'er the deep the mailed warriors came, 
Breathing revenge — " disgrace he brought, and 

shame, 
To the Atridae — a dishonour'd name." 
Pale Asia trembled, as the kindling strain 
Woke the fierce war, and shook the ensanguin'd 

plain ; 
The battle bled — Scamander roll'd with gore. — 
What shades are moving on the moonlight shore ? 
Who waits expectant of her lord's return "") 

In the Argive halls ? what festal torches burn ? J- 
Alas ! yon broken armour, and an urn, J 

Is all she holds — all that is left to tell, 
Beneath barbaric spears the flower of Hellas fell. 
Break off! — for time is list'ning to the lay, 
Heard from the syren shores, along the bay 
Of green Parthenope — the later theme -» 

Immortal, sung by him in mystic dream, 
Whose marble seat is still on Arno's shelving f 

stream. J 



XV1U DEDICATORY EPISTLE. 

The song is clos'd. — See Nature's darling laid 
An infant yet, in Avon's classic shade. 
Hark ! his wild notes are floating down the vale, 
like blossoms scatter'd in the summer gale. 
I mark thy hand each latent thought refine, 
Stamp with the seal of truth the Delphic line; 
O'er Fletcher's song bid new-born Pity weep, 
And wake the Muse of Shirley from her sleep. 
Oh, friend ! as oft I hail thy taste refin'd, 
Thy gentle manners, thy congenial mind ; 
Those studious hours that leave no page un- 
known, 
Of all that Rome or Athens call'd their own ; 
Thine the fair flowers on Tiber's banks that smile,^ 
And thine a wreath from each iEgean isle, 
With many a violet mix'd from Britain's gothic 

pile ; 
Secure of fame, thy future path I see, 
And mark another Parnell rise in thee. 



Farewell ! e'en now I leave, where Thames's wave 
His lucid mirror spreads by St. John's grave, 
(Yon little hamlet, once a vulgar name, 
Lives in the lines that mark the statesman's fame, 
And studious he each nobler grace to blend, 
At once the senate's strength, the poet's friend). 
For my lone woods I quit the insatiate throng 
(The child alike of sorrow and of song) ; 
And still the same, as when I wander'd pale 



DEDICATORY EPISTLE. XIX 

By far Sorrento's cliffs, and Sorga's vale ; 
Or when Ardennes' green forests saw me roam 
Their leafy glens, nor wish a fairer home. 
Ah ! then, St. Hubert ! who so pleas'd as me, 
Wandering at will, beneath thy forest tree ; 
Or where the antler'd herds at early dawn 
Graze the green wealth of many a flowery lawn ; 
Or list'ning in thy chapel, legends old 1 

Of the brave knight, and of the spurs of gold, J- 
By the grey Sacristain in mystery told. J 

Yet what if time around my temples pour 
Its lenient dews, a sweet exhaustless store; 
And Nature, to regain what grief may part, 
Spread the fresh tide of feeling round the heart ? — 
Fled is the Morn of Life ! yet left me still, 
The vale secluded, and the whispering rill : 
Content amid the silent woods to hear 
Soft falls of water murmuring in the ear. 
View the wild flowers their fragrant bells unfold, 
Spread the small leaf, and ope their cups of gold. 
Round the still pool the martlet's wing to see, 
To mark the linnet warbling from the tree, 
Or to his nectar'd hive watch home the yellow 

bee. 
Or now at Eve, from the tall mountain's crest, 
Catching the purple splendours of the West : 
Yon level length of shore — the headland grey, > 
Far seen — and many a barge and pinnace gay, 
With flag and flashing oar moor'd in the golden 
bay. 






XX DEDICATORY EPISTLE. 

Pass'd is the spangling shower — well pleas'd I hail 
The emerald bow that seems to span the vale. 
Through the still meads then oft my steps are seen, 
Where the small hamlet spreads its straggling green, 
Its little orchard plot — the smiling field, 
Mid tufts of auburn foliage half conceal'd, 
(The Leveret's haunt) yon bank of yellow broom, 
And the sweet odours of the trefoil bloom ; 
And not unmark'd the Naiad's hand that leads 
Her winding waters through a thousand meads, 
(While more remote, where the low hills extend. 
Bright purple heaths and russet fallows blend) ; 
For there the humble virtues love to rest 
Secure, and shelter'd in the peasant's nest ; 
Like the sweet tenants of the hive, they dwell, 
Gentle companions of the poor man's cell. 
Pleas'd memory tells, how warm his bosom 

glow'd 
For ills prevented, or for good bestow'd, 
While the small mite, in love, in pity given, 
Touch'd by his hand, became a gem in Heaven. 

Uplift the latch that opes the matron's door, 
Though low the roof and scanty be her store, 
Yet meek content, and patient labour there, 
Spread the small couch and eat their evening fare. 
Safe, where no ills molest, no cares invade, 
Watch'd by the genius of the rural shade ; 
And when that sleep (such monarchs seldom knew), 



DEDICATORY EPISTLE. XXI 

Has bath'd them in its soft celestial dew, 
Rise from their rest (ere the blue morning break 
From the fresh heaven, or early breezes wake, 
Scattering the glist'ning drops from off the thorn, 
Or list'ning in the copse the hunter's horn) ; 
And duly as the sun, and day by day, 
Tread the same path through life's unwearied way ; 
Their frugal virtues wisdom's eye admires, 
Where prudence guards what industry acquires. 
The glassy brook — the bee-hive at the door — "1 
The golden sheaf — the garden's fragrant store, r 
Their little wants supply, they ask no more. J 
While leisure loves in these sequester'd bowers 
The soft oblivion of the silent hours. 
And are there not who oft have cried in vain, 
"Ah, give to me my russet weeds again !" 
See, bending o'er her wheel with patient care, "1 
Her cheek just shaded by her nut-brown hiir, f 
Content the cottage maid is singing there. J 
How fresh for her the vernal zephyr blows ! 
For her how fair the purple morning glows ! 
Her's the green earth in all its beauty given, 
And her's the bright transparent dome of heaven. 
Tired nature rests — the sun declines his rays, 
Round the warm hearth the evening fagots blaze. 
Stretch'd by the cheerful fire, the genial board, 
They wish not Russell's wealth, nor Gideon's 

hoard : 
Nor envy they, by summer fountain laid, 
The lords of Chatsworth, or of Ragley's shade. 



XXU DEDICATORY EPISTLE. 

Wandering I see at twilight's gentlest hour 
The lights that linger on the village tower, 
Watch the soft clouds their faery lustre leave, 
Like isles, that gem the emerald sky of eve, 
Catch every changing hue, the amber fold, 
Bright ruby gleams, and lakes of floating gold ; 
Refulgent tints, that mimic art defy, 
And spread a nobler purple down the sky. 
Now o'er the vale descends a darker hue, 
(The distant mill-sail lessening to the view) 
And where the grange its garners broad extends, 
Forest and field a lengthening shadow blends. 
I pass the woodman on his homeward way, 1 
The lowing kine, the sports that close the day, V 
When all the budding groves are green in May ;J 
Catch from the distant fold the tinkling bell, 
In the still evening heard — that seems to tell, 
* Ye vales and uplands grey a long and last fare 
well r 



Studious of song ! 'tis thine with ease to blend 
Learning with mirth, the instructor and the friend. 
Tis thine to point the page where taste presides, 
Where wit enlivens, and where genius guides ; 
To show the knowledge deep, the judgment clear, 
The varying fancy sportive or severe. 
With curious toil (nor mean the praise) to trace 
Each finer harmony, each latent grace, 
Recall the wanderings of a thoughtless age 



DEDICATORY EPISTLE. XX111 

To Spenser's song, or Shakespeare's bolder page, 
Mark each connecting chain, each deep design, 
And pour fresh lustre on the glowing line ; 
With just remark refine the poet's lays, 
And give the critic's art a higher praise. 
Touch'd by no meaner hand, so pleas'd I see 
The wreath that Gifford wore, descend to thee. 

Come then, alike in converse grave or gay, 
Speed the swift hours, and share the social day ; 
Leave the huge city's throng, the tumult loud, 
Absolved of care, and sacred from the crowd. 
(Thy hand the Muses' various gifts inspire 
To dip the pencil, or to wake the lyre ;) 
Aid me to wind my banks, direct my shade, 
Slope the green lawn, or roll the broad cascade, 
Collect the flowers the cultur'd garden yields, 
And glean the soft instruction of the fields ; 
Paint with new light the mountain's florid brow, 
And wake the genius of the flood below. 
With calm desires and gentlest wishes blest, 
Here mayst thou choose of nature's gifts the best. 
Thine is the laurel shade — the chesnut bower, 
When summer glows beneath the noontide hour. 
The vernal walk is thine — the soften'd scene, 
Sweet evening lights, and golden skies serene ; 
The fresh airs moving o'er the mottled sea, 
And Hesper's fragrant lamp, that burns for thee. 

Calm leisure waits thee here — nor thou disdain 



XXIV DEDICATORY EPISTLE. 

Our humbler annals, and inglorious plain. 
Once to these silent woods young Milton came, 
(The site, the shade now consecrate to fame) 
Time holds not in his hand a more immortal 

name. 

Then was the hour when with exulting spring, 
Youth lent to Genius all its fiery wing, 
When Fancy roam'd the rich creation free ; 
A line, a word — was immortality. 
In all the wealth of Plato's mind array'd, 
When science wooed him in the olive shade, 
He came — the friend in converse sweet to cheer, 
(Waking the memory of each youthful year, 
When, ere the lark had sung, at matin tide, 
Building high thoughts, in converse side by side ; 
Oft by the early shepherd they were seen, 
Or old Damoetas on the dewy green) 
Sure in that little Tusculum to find 
The ripen'd wisdom of a scholar's mind. 
The first his young enamour'd feet to lead 
By many a flowery rock and haunted mead, 
Wet with Castalian dews — each bold design 
Urging, till now along the steep divine, f 

He caught the gleam of Phoebus' golden shrine. J 
Heard round its gates the hallow'd laurels wave, 
And sound of choral fountains warbling in their 

cave. 

Behold ! not far remov'd, yon elmy vale ; 
Whose branching foliage screens the mossy pale ; 



DEDICATORY EPISTLE. XXV 

There the last refuge of his exiled woes, 
The village pastor's humble dwelling rose, 
Who far from worldly cares, from worldly strife, 
Watch'd the calm sunset of his closing life. 
Fix'd in these sheltering vales his peaceful seat, 
Amid the silent blessings of retreat, 
Pleas'd 'mid his books, his fold, his farm to stray, 
And pass, as Tully pass'd, the approving day. 
Or him the lov'd of Earth — the sent of Heaven, 
To whom the knowledge of its will was given ; 
Guide of the wanderer — teacher of the blind, 
Well was he call'd— the Wisest of Mankind. 

Ah, mark, with reverence mark, each willowy glade, 
Each wild- wood walk where oft the poet stray 'd, 
His favourite path beneath yon hawthorns green, 
Where the small glow-worm's emerald lamp was 

seen, 
Star of the earth — of eve ! — yon bank of flowers, 
Detain'd him musing through the noontide hours ; 
And still the traveller points the green retreat, 
The crystal waters and the Muses' seat, 
There would he watch the morning's dewy beam 
Tremble with silver lustre on the stream, 
Or view, as the mild shades of evening blend, 
The orb of glory to his couch descend. 
And oft before his youthful eyes there came 
Bright gleams, the Aurora of his future fame ; 
He felt the gale that blew from Mars's hill, 
He heard the murmurs of Ilissus' rill. 



XXVI DEDICATORY EPISTLE. 

Gaz'd on each marble shrine, each sacred fane,! 
Fresh rising (thus it seem'd), and that lov'd plain, f 
Where Athens saw her own Minerva reign. J 
Genius of Greece ! what sounds his ear invade, 
Breath'd by thy lips from Delphi's depth of shade ! 
How roll the kindling numbers soft or strong, 
In all the awful majesty of song. 
What voice prophetic sounds from Cirrha's cave ! 
How sweet the warbling of the Thespian wave ! 
Lov'd Amymone ! and ye gales that bring 
The silver drops to pale Pyrene's spring, 
Shook from your lucid plumes! — ye linger'd 

there, 
Waking soft echoes from the listening air. 
While o'er each twilight vale, and haunted grove, 
Young Fancy's hand its wild embroidery wove, 
Flung o'er the earth, a light immortal given, 
And hung with flowery brede the purple zone of 

heaven. 

Him by far Deva's banks the Muses found 
(Their favourite haunt) or Severn's western bound, 
Musing on Merlin's art (his earliest theme), 
Or Uther's son ; — then by the shadowy stream 
Of Trent or Tamar, visions strange would be 
Of ships from Troy, ploughing the British sea. 
First from Kent's chalky headlands the salt tide 
Dividing, were green Ida's oaks espied, 
Bound for th' old giant's isle — anon they past 
The shore, and Brutus' colours on the mast. 



DEDICATORY EPISTLE. XXVll 

Then (twilight dreams) would fabling fancy tell 

Of the dark talisman, the potent spell, 

And dwarfs, an elfin crew, around the sorcerer's 

cell ; 

Of fragrant groves, with mystic garlands hung, 
Of viewless harps on high (tales yet unsung), 
Tall steeds caparison 'd, and knights afield, 
The glittering scutcheon, and the emblazon'd shield , 
The trumpet wailing o'er the warrior slain ; 
(Like him who fell on Fontarabia's plain ; 
The peerless chief long wept in many a poet's 

strain.) 
There the rich doors their ivory valves unfold, 
Forth issuing many a knight and emir old, 
And broider'd caftans shine, and garments stiff 

with gold. 

Crossing the sunny cove, with glancing sail, 
There flits the fairy pinnace down the gale. 
Round the tall prow the sparkling waves behold, 
The silken cordage, and the cloth of gold. 
Child of the sea ! — the mantle and the ring, 
And the bright sword proclaim the Armoric king ! 
There, touch'd with light the rich pavilion gleams, 
Where the green forest's pensile foliage streams. 
Stretch'd on the ground the weary falconers lie, 
Gaze-hound, and horn, and bleeding quarry 

nigh ; [on high. 

And mantling on his perch, the hooded hawk. 
Sweet forms were seen, and voices down the glade, 
Tapestry and lute, on moss and wild flowers laid, 



XXV111 DEDICATORY EPISTLE* 

And many an ermin'd cap and jewell'd ring, 
And the blue plumage of the Heron's wing, 
And milk-white hinds, the fairest creatures seen, 
Tripping with snowy feet across the alleys green. 

Bright was the bower, a silver colonnade 

Spread its sun-chequer'd floor, where light and . 
shade 

Alternate with the varying zephyr play'd. 

Young lips were trembling with sweet whispers 
there : 

" Lady, I could have lov'd thee, though less fair." 

How soft the breath of that consenting sigh ! 

How bright the glances of that falcon eye ! 

The look, the smile — a hermit's heart 'twould cheer : 

When beauty speaks — who can refuse to hear ? 

Then vows were made ; " Witness ye stars that 
shine !" 

And — " Nay, sir Knight :" and " gentle may- 
flower mine !" 

While chess and tables wile the hours away, 

With many a song between, and lusty roundelay. 



But hark ! a cry ! — i to horse — no time afford, 
Grasp thou the lance, and gird thou on the sword ! 
The foe's at hand — a field of blood to-day — 
Each to the rescue, fly — away, away V 
Chang'd is the scene — down yon sequester'd vale 
The chaunt comes floating from the cloisters pale. 
Psalter in hand, the long procession moves, 



DEDICATORY EPISTLE. XXIX 

The tapers glare amid the yellow groves, 
Then the low requiem's heard, — the prayer to save, 
And holy symbols mark the Christian warrior's 
grave. 

Such were the pictur'd shadows that around 
Bright fancy scatter'd on the enamell'd ground 
From her rich urn—feeding the poet's mind 
With visionary spells and truths refin'd ; 
And prescient of his future fame, bestow'd 
The aspiring thought, and breath'd the words 

that glow'd. 

Perchance by Harewood's tangled groves, or now 
Musing upon the solitary brow 
Of that dark rock, shadowing Sabrina's cave, 
Her lily-paved banks, and pearly wave. 
And, lo ! rose other forms to meet him there, 
The enchanted wood, the gentle lady fair, 
The wizard's crystal glass, and that delusive 

chair. 

J. Mitford. 

Benhall, Sept, 1, 1832. 



XXX 



NOTES. 

P.iv. Anna's grave] Parnell married Miss Anne Mi nchin* 
See his Life. 

P. vi. Mordaunt been] Since this poem was written, this 
accomplished actress has again delighted the stage, by con- 
descending to reappear on it. I may say, with Swift, in al- 
lusion to my own premature lament, 

• His worship is bit 
By that rogue Nisbitt.' 
No actress ever received so much commendation from the 
lyre as Mrs. Oldfield ; all Parnassus conspired to praise her* 
The ashes of Siddons's fame are fortunately placed in a 
poet's hand. 

P. x. Love and beauty nigh] Lady Russell sate by her 

husband's side during his trial, and acted as his amanuensis. 

' That sweet saint who sate by Russell's side.' 

Rogers's Human Life. 

P. xii. great integrity] These were the words that Arch. 
Sancroft addressed to his chaplain on his death-bed. He 
retired to a small patrimonial farm at Fressingfield, in Suf- 
folk, where he died, and where his monument is erected. 

P. xiii. Adestes* green domain] Is an expression, 1 believe, 
of Mr. Whitehead, the Laureate, but I speak from memory. 

P. xvi. Beautiful Helen] A person of great authority, but 
whose name is too venerable to be mentioned ; affirms that 
there never were hut five women who were perfectly beautiful, 
and that there never will be a sixth. They are — Semiramis 
— Helen — Cleopatra — Diana of Poictiers — Ninon de L'En- 



NOTES. XXXI 

clos. Thus France has the glory of furnishing two. I do 
not dare to reveal my authority, but refer to a book called 
Gallerie de l'Ancienne Cour ou Memoires, &c. — requesting 
timid readers to forbear from searching more deeply into the 
subject. The death of the beautiful Louisa de Budes, wife 
of Henry, first constable of Montmorenci \ who died in 
1599, has thrown a melancholy suspicion on the manner in 
which remarkable beauty is acquired, and the tenure on which 
it is held. 

P. xvi. Then did the minstrels] See the Agamemnon of 
^schylus ; 7rpo0»?rai, has been translated ' minstrels." 

P. xvii. marble seat] The marble chair, on which Dante 
sate, is not (I think) now at Florence. 

P. xviii. little hamlet] Lord Bolingbroke is buried in the 
church of Battersea, where he lived in the later years of his 
life, and died of a long and cruel disease — a cancer in the 
face. Dr. King wrote a poem on his Lordship's return from 
France, in which, after comparing him to Iris, he says, 

' The virgins ran, as to unusual show, 
When he to Paris came, and Fontainbleau, 
Viewing the blooming minister desired, &c. 

Oh ! all ye nymphs, while time and youth allow, 
Prepare the rose and lily for his brow. 
Much he has done, but still has more to do/ 

Strange compliments these ! to those,who knew his lordship's 
character. 

P. xix. St, Hubert] The legend of St. Hubert is familiar 
to most persons (I presume) ; from the engraving of A. 
Durer's picture. The relics of St. Hubert are venerated 
among the peasantry of the Ardennes, and are considered effi- 
cacious in the cure of canine madness. I was detained there 
by the Belgian police, and narrowly escaped a long impri- 
sonment, having penetrated too far in search of the Pictu- 
resque. 

P. xxiv. young Milton] Milton visited his old tutor, 
Thomas Young, who then resided at his Vicarage-house, 



XXXll NOTES. 

at Stowmarket, in Suffolk, after his return from Hamburgh. 
See Milton's Latin letter to him, poem, &c. 

P. xxvi. ships from Troy] See Milton's Hist, of England, 
and the old Chroniclers ; Britain was called the island of the 
Giants. 

P. xxvii. fabling fancy'] These and the following lines are 
merely rude sketches of some of the favourite and familiar 
subjects of books of chivalry and old romances,which (it is well 
known) formed one branch of Milton's study in his youth. 

P. xxvii. Armoric King] Amadis de Gaul. 

P. xxviii. tables] The old game of ' tables ' is supposed to 
be draughts, or backgammon, I forget which of the two. 

P. xxix. the enchanted wood] Alluding to Milton's Comus, 
a poem showing at once his classical taste and romantic stu- 
dies. The five years of study which Milton passed at his 
father's house in Buckinghamshire, laid the massive founda- 
tion of his immense and well arranged learning ; and fed 
his youthful genius with the richest and most select stores of 
poetry. Italy certainly beheld with astonishment, but with- 
out envy, the accomplished scholar and poet, from whose lips 
she heard the language of Tiber and Arno, as musically and 
correctly as from her own. 



THE LIFE OF PARNELL, 

BY THE REVEREND JOHN MITFORD. 

I am sorry, that it is not in my power to spread 
before the admirers of Parnell, some richer stores 
of biographical anecdote : nor do I know where 
I could refer them to more copious sources of 
information. I am not aware that any materials 
w r ere collected by his friends or contemporaries, 
certainly no life of him was composed. For the 
little knowledge of the poet which we possess, 
we are indebted to Goldsmith ; the elegance of 
whose narrative, and the justice of whose criti- 
cisms has been long acknowledged ; but the facts 
which he collected were so few, that Dr. Johnson, 
who went to Goldsmith's life for information, has 
included his account of the poet, both personal 
and literary, in the narrow space of four pages. 
Perhaps it would have been as well, in the absence 
of fresh information, to have republished the life 
written by Goldsmith, but as that was not con- 
sistent with the plan of the present work, and as 
I have picked up a few gleanings relating to Par- 
nell's domestic history unnoticed by others, I shall 
endeavour to lay before my readers as full an ac- 

B 



V LIFE OF PARNELL. 

count as I can give of the circumstances in his 
life which have come down to us, adding* a few 
observations on the poems which he has left. I 
am afraid that it is now too late to supply by 
any diligence of inquiry, what the negligence of 
his contemporaries omitted to record. Had we 
been permitted to know more, we should certainly 
not have contemplated a life chequered by vicissi- 
tude, or variegated by incident ; but we might 
have derived some information from tracing the 
line of his studies, and observing the progress of 
his knowledge ; nor would it have been uninter- 
esting to have watched the gradual refinement of 
his taste, and taken a nearer survey of those 
social virtues and captivating qualities of mind, 
which rendered his acquaintance desirable, and 
secured to him the cordial friendship of Harley 
and Pope. As it is, we must be content to know 
that Parnell added the pleasing qualities of a com- 
panion, to the elegant invention of the poet. 
" When the poet's fame, as Goldsmith says, is in- 
creased by time, it is then too late to investigate 
the peculiarities of his disposition ; the dews of the 
morning are past, and we vainly try to continue 
the chase by the meridian splendour.' ' 

Thomas Parnell was descended from an ancient 
family 1 that for some centuries had been settled at 



1 For the following pedigree of our poet, I am indebted 
to the kindness of Sir Harris Nicolas, who refers me to 



LIFE OF PARNELL. O 

Congleton, in Cheshire. His father, Thomas Par- 
nell, was attached to the Commonwealth party, 
and at the restoration went over to Ireland, where 
he purchased a considerable estate, which, with 
his property in Cheshire, descended to our poet. 

Parnell was born in Dublin, in 1679, and was 
educated at the school of Dr. Jones in that city ; 
he is said to have distinguished himself by an ex- 
traordinary quickness of memory, which enabled 
him in one night to complete a task that was in- 
tended to confine him many days, and it is said 
that he could repeat forty lines of any book after 
the first reading. It is probable that this account, 

Playfair's British Family Antiquity, vol. ix. p. cxvii. in the 
absence of better authority, and who observes that of Irish 
baronets very little is known. 

Thomas Parnell, member of a family long resident at 
Congleton, county Chester, purchased an estate in Ire- 
land, temp. Charles II. and settled in that kingdom. 



X 



I ■ 1 

Thomas Parnell, Clerk^=pAnn, daughter John Parnell, Judge , 
son and heir, Archdea- 
con of Clogher,1705,&c. 
The Poet oh. 1717. 



of Thomas Min- K.B.inIreland,1722. 
chin, esq. =p=s 



Sir John Parnell, 1st 
Two sons and) died before bart, ob. 1782. 

one daughter. \ their father. =j=: 

Sir John Parnell, 
2nd bart. ob. 1801. 



Sir John Augustus Parnell, Right Hon. Sir Henry 

3rd bart. ob. 1812. Parnell, 4th and pre- 

sent bart. 
N.B. Nothing is said of the family in Ormerod's Cheshire. 



4 LIFE OF PARNELL. 

though overcharged, may be in the main true ; a 
ready memory is not always retentive ; and the 
system pursued in the education of schools has of 
necessity a greater tendency to sharpen the faculty 
of seizing and collecting facts, than to bestow that 
generalizing and philosophical power by which 
they are arranged and preserved. The verses 
which he learned with so much facility were pro- 
bably as quickly forgotten. The almost instanta- 
neous rapidity with which some actors on the stage 
have been known to remember and repeat passages 
of great length, 1 is hardly more astonishing, than 
the shortness of the time during which the fleeting 
impressions remained upon their mind. 

Goldsmith says, that his admission at the age 
of thirteen into the college at Dublin is a proof of 
the early maturity of his understanding. His 
compositions shew the extent and solidity of his 
classical knowledge. He took the degree of 
Master of Arts on the 9th July, 1700, in the 
same year he was ordained a deacon by William, 
Bishop of Deny, having a dispensation, by reason 
of his being under the canonical age. About 
three years after he was ordained priest, and in 

1 See a remarkable instance of this power of rapidly seiz- 
ing* long- passages, in the anecdotes of La Mothe's life. 
Voltaire was reading a tragedy to him, — La Mothe ac- 
cused him of plagiarism, and instantly repeated the whole 
of the second scene of the fourth act, which he had just 
heard, to confirm the accusation. See Galerie de Tancienne 
Cour, &c. vol. ii. p. 223, 



LIFE OF PARNELL. b 

1705, Sir George Ashe, Bishop of Clogher, con- 
ferred on him the Archdeaconry of Clogher. At 
this time he married Miss Ann Minchin, 1 a young 
lady of more than usual beauty, and of great merit, 
by whom he had two sons, who died young, and a 
daughter who long survived him. 

Being the son of a Commonwealth's man, it 
might naturally be expected that Parnell would 
have embraced the principles and politics of the 
Whigs ; but he was persuaded, by motives with 
which we are not acquainted, to change his party ; 
and in the end of Queen Anne's reign, when the 
Whigs went out of office, Parnell was received by 
the new ministry ' as a valuable reinforcement.' 2 

When Lord Oxford was told that Parnell waited 
among the crowd in the outer room, he went, by 
the persuasion of Swift, with his treasurer's staff 
in his hand to inquire for him ; 3 the dedication 

1 Dr. Johnson calls her Mrs, Anne Minchin, — at what 
time did the title ' Miss' supersede \ Mrs.' for young un- 
married females 1 the young ladies of the Lizard family (see 
the Guardian, 1713) are called Mrs. Mary, Mrs. Betty, &c. 
yet ' Miss' is sometimes used ; Perhaps, the play-bills 
would give the period of change with the most exactness. 
Would it not be as well to revert to the old custom, and 
confine the use of * Miss' to ladies of a certain character ; 
giving to chastity and virtue a graver and weightier title.— 
i Hae nugae in seria ducunt.' 

2 See Johnson's life, p. 50. 

3 " Have you nothing new to day, 

From Pope, from Parnell, or from Gay," 
is a couplet put by Swift into Lord Oxford's mouth (Hot. 



O LIFE OF PARNELL. 

of Pope seems to prove that he was admitted as a 
favourite companion to the convivial hours of the 
minister ; and that even the business of office was 
delayed, when the treasurer wished to indulge in 
the delight of the poet's conversation. 1 

" For him thou oft hast bid the world attend, 
Pleased to forget the statesman in the friend." 

While Parnell remained in London, he often 
preached in the different churches of the metro- 
polis ; Johnson speaks of this as arising from his 
vanity or ambition; did he, a sincere and zea- 
lous churchman, forget that preaching was one of 
the chief duties of Parnell's profession ; and that 
he imparted moral advice and religious instruc- 
tion, through the only channel which was open to 
one who possessed no parish of his own. Parnell 
preached to attentive audiences chiefly in the city 
and about Southwark, and his eloquence and 
knowledge made him popular. The queen's death 
however precluded any hopes of preferment from 
the interest of his Tory friends ; and Johnson 

lib. ii. s. 6. imitated). See ParnelTs Posth. Poem on Queen 
Anne's Peace, p. 202. for the highest Eulogy on Lord 
Oxford. 

1 In Swift's letter to Lord Oxford for correcting, &c. the 
English Tongue, he says, ' All your other virtues, my lord, 
will be defective without this your affability, candour, and 
good nature. That perpetual agreeableness of conversation 
so disengaged in the midst of such a weight of business and oppo- 
sition t y &c. Miscellanies, 1. p. 224. 



J.IFE OF PARNELL. 7 

more than hints, that his religious zeal cooled, in 
proportion as his prospects of advancement closed. 
I do not, however, think that we have a right to 
adopt an opinion, perhaps hastily advanced, and 
which leads to so unfavorable a construction of 
our poet's conduct. 

About this time he had the misfortune to lose 
his wife j 1 and in the great disappointment of his 
hopes, and dejection of spirits which followed, 
Pope represents him as having fallen into some in- 
temperance of wine. 2 Pope and Swift were not 

1 Swift, in his journal to Stella, Aug. 24, 1712, says, ' I am 
heartily sorry for poor Mrs. Parnell's death; she seemed 
to be an excellent good natured young- woman, and, I be- 
lieve, the poor lad is much afflicted ; they appeared to live 
perfectly well together/ 

2 In the first MS. Memoranda of Pope's conversation, as 
preserved in Spence's Anecdotes, Pope is made to say,^-* 
1 that Parnell is a great follower of drams, and strangely open 
and scandalous in his debaucheries,* — this was omitted in 
the transcript; Spence probably thought it not correct. 
It is somewhat singular, as the Editor of Spence observes, 
that the same charge of dram-drinking has been brought 
against Pope himself, in King's Anecdotes of his Own Time, 
p. 12, * Pope hastened his death by feeding much on high 
seasoned dishes, and drinking spirits.' See Spence's Anec- 
dotes, p. 139. Ruffhead, on the authority of Warburton, 
has given a different account of the cause which led to Par- 
nell's intemperance. When Parnell had been introduced 
by Swift to Lord Treasurer Oxford, and had been established 
in his favour by the assistance of Pope, he soon began to 
entertain ambitious views. The walk he chose to shine in 
was popular preaching ; he had talents for it, and began to be 
distinguished in the mob-places of Southwark and London, 



O LIFE OF PARNELL. 

lovers of the bottle, though the former did not dis- 
like the delicacies of a luxurious table ; perhaps 
he has mentioned a little too strongly this weak- 
ness of his friend ; certain it is, that Parnell did 
not lose the respect of society, or the attachment 
of his patrons ; for Archbishop King, at the request 
of Swift, gave him a prebendal stall in 1713, and 
in May, 1716, presented him with the vicarage of 
Finglass, in the diocess of Dublin, worth about 
four hundred pounds a year. 1 He did not, how- 
ever, long live to enjoy his preferment and pros- 
perity; and died at Chester in July, 1717, in his 
thirty-eighth year, while on his way to Ireland, 
and was buried at Trinity Church in that town. 

His estate devolved on his only nephew, Sir John 
Parnell, whose father was younger brother to the 

when the Queen's sudden death destroyed all his prospects, 
and at a juncture when he found preaching to be the readiest 
road to preferment. This fatal stroke broke his spirits ; he 
took to drinking, became a sot, and soon finished his course/ 
See Huff head's Life of Pope, p. 492, who says that Pope 
gave the above account to Warburton ; much difference ex- 
ists between Pope's own account of his friends, and the cha- 
racters of them, which Warburton subsequently gave as 
Pope's ; see an instance of this in Johnson's Life of Rowe. 
1 There seems to be some error in the value which the 
biographers of Parnell have placpd on this living ; for Swift 
in his * Vindication of his Excellency Lord Carteret,' speaks 
of him as bestowing on Mr. James Stafford the Vicarage of 
Finglass, worth about one hundred pounds a year. This was 
written in the year 1730. I have no doubt but that Gold- 
smith's valuation is erroneous ; for Swift seems to doubt 
whether his own Deanery was worth more than four hun* 
dred pounds a year. 



LIFE OF PARNELL. 9 

Archdeacon, and one of the Justices of the King's 
Bench in Ireland. No monument marked his 
grave ; but his epitaph has been written by Johnson, 

Hie requiescit Thomas Parnell, S.T.P. 
Qui Sacerdos pariter et Poeta 
Utrasque partes ita implevit, 
Ut neque Sacerdoti Suavitas poetae 
Nee Poetae Sacerdotis Sanctitas deesset. 1 

Such is the small amount of facts which has been 
preserved relating to the poet. I must now bor- 
row from Goldsmith's narrative some account 
of his mental qualities and habits, for which the 
biographer was indebted to the information of his 
father and uncle : while I just mention, that if the 
account given is correct, the poems of Parnell do not 
form a clear transcript of his mind.; nor could we, 
through the veil of their light and graceful gaiety, 
discern the feelings of a person whose passions 
were so strong, and whose life was an unfortunate 
alternation of rapture and agony. I shall leave to 
others to explain how far such violent and unre- 
strained habits were compatible with his delightful 
qualities as a companion ; 

1 With sweetest manners gentlest arts adorn'd/ 
but it is said, that he knew the ridicule which his 
strongly contrasted character 2 excited ; though he 

1 Boswell's Johnson, vol. iv. p. 54. 

2 In his preface to Homer, p. xxxviii. Pope says, f I must 
add the names of Mr. Rowe and Dr. Parnell, though I shall 
take a farther opportunity of doing justice to the last, whose 
good nature (to give it a great panegyrick), is no less ex- 
tensive than his learning.' 



10 LIFE OF PARNELL. ' 

could not soften or subdue the impetuous feelings 
that formed it. 

" Parnell," says his biographer, " by what 1 1 
have been able to collect from my father and uncle, 
who knew him, was the most capable man in the 
world to make the happiness of those he conversed 
with, and the least able to secure his own. He 
wanted that evenness of disposition which bears 
disappointment with phlegm, and joy with indif- 
ference. He was ever much elated or depressed, 
and his whole life spent in agony or rapture. But 
the turbulence of these passions only affected him- 
self, and never those about him; he knew the 
ridicule of his own character, and very effectually 
raised the mirth of his companions as well at his 
vexations as his triumphs. 

" How much his company was desired, appears 
from the extensiveness of his connexions and the 
number of his friends. Even before he made any 
figure in the literary world, his friendship was 
sought by persons of every rank and party. 1 The 
wits at that time differed a good deal from those 
who are most eminent for their understanding at 
present. It would now be thought a very indif- 
ferent sign of a writer's good sense, to disclaim his 

1 Parnell was well acquainted with Bolingbroke ; see the 
poem called Queen Anne's Peace, 1713 (Posth. Poems, p. 
248). 

' I fly with speed, 

To sing such lines as Bolingbroke may read/ 
And see p. 253. 



LIFE OF PARNELL. 11 

private friends for happening to be of a different 
party in politics, but it was then otherwise. The 
Whig wits held the Tory wits in great contempt, 
and those retaliated in their turn. At the head of 
one party were Addison, Steele, and Congreve ; at 
that of the other, Pope, Swift, and Arbuthnot. 
Parnell was a friend to both sides, and with a libe- 
rality becoming a scholar, scorned all those trifling 
distinctions that are noisy for the time and ridi- 
culous to posterity. Nor did he emancipate him- 
self from these without some opposition from 
home. Having been the son of a commonwealth's 
man, his Tory connexions on this side of the water 
gave his friends in Ireland great offence ; they 
were much enraged to see him keep company with 
Pope, Swift, and Gay ; they blamed his undistin- 
guishing taste, and wondered what pleasure he 
could find in the conversation of men who approved 
the treaty of Utrecht, and disliked the Duke of 
Marlborough." 

His conversation is said to have been extremely 
pleasing. The letters which were written to him 
by his friends are full of compliments upon his 

* These toils the graceful Bolingbroke attends, 
A genius fashion'd for the greatest ends,' &c. 

And the poem on the different styles of poetry is dedicated 
to him, and also contains high praise of him : 

* Oh ! Bolingbroke ! O favourite of the skies/ &c. 
See also the extracts from Swift's Journal, when the ac- 
quaintance had ripened into intimacy. 



12 LIFE OF PARNELL. 

talents as a companion, and his good nature as a 
man. Pope was particularly fond of his company, 
and seems to regret his absence more than the 
rest. The letters which he addressed to Parnell 
will be read with interest ; they bear ample testi- 
mony of his affection, and show that Pope knew 
and respected Parnell's acquirements as a scholar. 1 
From one of the letters it appears, that Parnell 
assisted him in the translation of the Scholiasts 
and Commentators 2 on Homer, a task afterwards 
more fully performed by Jortin. Pope's scanty 
and superficial knowledge of Greek must have 
made this assistance of great value ; nor am 
I aware that the translator of Homer numbered 
among his friends, another scholar of equal ac- 
quirements. 3 Gay, as Goldsmith observes, was 
obliged to him on another account ; for being al- 
ways poor, he was not above receiving from Par- 
nell the copy-money which the latter got for his 
writings. 

1 Warton, vol. viii. p. 301—313, vii. 299. 

2 See Pope's Letters (Warton's ed.), vol. viii. p. 276, 
Let. lxxxviii. * The first gentleman who undertook the 
task of making- extracts from Eustathius, and who grew 
weary/ Was this person Parnell, or some one else, whose 
name has not reached us 1 

3 In the Posthumous Poems (Elysium) he gives a wrong 
quantity to Laodamia, p. 268, 

1 Fair Laodamia mourns her nuptial right,' &c. 
which perhaps he took from Dryden's Ovid, who uses the 
word Deidamia, with the penultimate syllable short. 



life of parnell. 13 

Mr. Pope to Dr. Parnell. 
Dear Sir, London, July 29. 

I wish it were not as ungenerous as vain, to com- 
plain too much of a man that forgets me, hut I 
could expostulate with you a whole day, upon 
your inhuman silence — I call it inhuman, nor 
would you think it less, if you were truly sensible 
of the uneasiness it gives me. Did I know you 
so ill, as to think you proud, I would be much less 
concerned than I am able to be, when I know one 
of the best natured men alive neglects me. Or if 
you know me so ill as to think amiss of me with 
regard to my friendship for you, you really do not 
deserve half the trouble you occasion me. I need 
not tell you that both Mr. Gay and myself have 
written several letters in vain ; that we are con- 
stantly enquiring of all who have seen Ireland, if 
they saw you, and that (forgotten as we are) we 
are every day remembering you in our most agree- 
able hours. All this is true, as that we are sin- 
cerely lovers of you, and deplorers of your ab- 
sence, and that we form no wish more ardently 
than that which brings you over to us. We have 
lately had some distant hopes of the dean's design 
to revisit England. Will not you accompany him ? 
or is England to lose every thing that has any 
charm for us, and must we pray for banishment 
as a benediction. 

I have once been witness of some, I hope all 
of your splenetic hours ; come, and be a comforter 



14 LIFE OF PARNELL. 

in your turn to me in mine. I am in such an un- 
settled state, that I can't tell if I shall ever see 
you, unless it be this year. Whether I do or not, 
be ever assured, you have as large a share of my 
thoughts and good wishes as any man, and as 
great a portion of gratitude in my heart, as would 
enrich a monarch could he know where to find it. 
I shall not die without testifying something of 
this nature, and leaving to the world a memorial 
of the friendship that has been so great a pleasure 
and pride to me. It would be like writing my 
own epitaph, to acquaint you with what I have 
lost since I saw you, what I have done, what I 
have thought, where I have lived, and where I 
now repose in obscurity. My friend Jervas, the 
bearer of this, will inform you of all particulars 
concerning me ; and Mr. Ford is charged with a 
thousand loves, and a thousand complaints, and a 
thousand commissions, to you on my .part. They 
will both tax you with the neglect of some pro- 
mises which were too agreeable to us all to be 
forgot. If you care for any of us, tell them so, 
and write so to me. I can say no more, but that 
I love you, and am, in spite of the longest neglect 

or absence, 

Dear sir, yours, &c. 

Gay is in Devonshire, and from thence he goes 
to Bath : my father and mother never fail to com- 
memorate you. 



LTFE OF PARNELL. 15 

TO THE SAME* 

Binfield, near Oakingham. 
Dear Sir, Tuesday. 

I believe the hurry you were in hindered your 
giving me a word by the last post, so that I am 
yet to learn whether you got well to town, or con- 
tinue so there. I very much fear both for your 
health, and your quiet, and no man living can be 
more truly concerned in any thing that touches 
either, than myself. I would comfort myself, 
however, with hoping that your business may not 
be unsuccessful for your sake, and that at least, it 
may soon be put into other proper hands. For my 
own, I beg earnestly of you to return to us as soon 
as possible. You know how very much I want 
you, and that however your business may depend 
upon another, my business depends entirely on 
you, and yet still I hope you will find your man, 
even though I lose you the mean while. At this 
time the more I love, the worse I can spare you, 
which alone will, I dare say, be a reason to you, 
to let me have you back the sooner. The minute 
I lost you; Eustathius, with nine hundred pages, 
and nine thousand contractions of the Greek cha- 
racter, arose to my view. Spondanus with all his 
auxiliaries, in number a thousand pages (value 
three shillings), and Dacier's three volumes, Barnes' 
two, Voltaire's three, Cuperus, half in Greek, Leo 
Allatius three parts in Greek, Scaliger, Macrobius, 
and (worse than them all) Aulus Gellius ; all these 



16 LIFE OF PARNELL. 

rushed upon my soul at once, and whelmed me 
under a fit of the head ache. Dear sir, not only 
as you are a friend, and a good natured man, but 
as you are a Christian and a Divine, come back 
speedily and prevent the increase of my sins ; for 
at the rate I have began to rave, I shall not only 
damn all the poets and commentators who have 
gone before me, but be damned myself by all who 
come after me. To be serious, you have not only 
left me to the last degree impatient for your re- 
turn, who at all times should have been so ; (though 
never so much as since I knew you in best health 
here,) but you have wrought several miracles upon 
our family ; you have made old people fond of a 
young and gay person, and inveterate papists of a 
clergyman of the church of England. Even nurse 
herself is in danger of being in love in her old 
age ; and for ought I know, would even marry 
Dennis for your sake, because he is your man and 
loves his master. In short, come down foithwith, 
or give me good reasons for delaying, though but 
for a day or two, by the next post. If I find them 
just, I will come up to you, though you must 
know how precious my time is at present, my 
hours were never worth so much money before ; 
but perhaps you are not sensible of this, who give 
away your own works. You are a generous au- 
thor, I a hackney scribbler, you are a Grecian 
and bred at a university; I, a poor Englishman, 
of my own educating. You are a reverend par- 



LIFE OF PARNELL. 17 

son, I a wag; in short, you are Doctor Parnelle 
(with an e at the end of your name), and I your most 
obliged and affectionate friend and faithful servant. 
My hearty service to the Dean, Dr. Arbuthnot, 
Mr. Ford, and the true genuine shepherd, Gay of 
Devon, I expect him down with you. 

TO THE SAME. 

Dear Sir, 
I write to you with the same warmth, the same 
zeal of good will and friendship, with which I 
used to converse with you two years ago, and can- 
not think myself absent when I feel you so much 
at my heart. The picture of you which Jervas 
brought me over, is infinitely less lively a repre- 
sentation than that I carry about with me, and which 
rises to my mind whenever I think of you. I have 
many an agreeable reverie through those woods 
and downs where we once rambled together. My 
head is sometimes at the Bath, and sometimes at 
Litcomb, where the Dean makes a great part of 
my imaginary entertainment, this being the cheap- 
est way of treating me. I hope he will not be 
displeased at this manner of paying my respects to 
him, instead of following my friend Jervas's ex- 
ample, which, to say the truth, I have as much 
inclination to do, as I want ability. I have been 
ever since December last in greater variety of 
business than any such men as you (that is divines 
and philosophers) can possibly imagine a reason- 

c 



18 LIFE OF PARNELL. 

able creature capable of. Gay's play among the 
rest has cost much time and long-suffering, to 
stem a tide of malice and party, that authors have 
raised against it. The best revenge against such 
fellows is now in my hands : I mean your Zoilus, 
which really transcends the expectation I had con- 
ceived of it. I have put it into the press, beginning 
with the poem Batrachom : for you seem by the 
first paragraph of the dedication to it, to design 
to prefix the name of some particular person. I 
beg therefore to know for whom you intend it, 
that the publication may not be delayed on this 
account ; and this as soon as possible. Inform me 
also on what terms I am to deal with the bookseller, 
and whether you design the copy money for Gay, 
as you formerly talked : what number of books 
you would have yourself, &c. I scarce see any 
thing to be altered in this whole piece ; in the 
poems you sent, I will take the liberty you allow 
me. The story of Pandora, and the Eclogue upon 
Health, are ■ two of the most beautiful things I 
ever read. I don't say this to the prejudice of the 
rest : but as I have read these oftener. Let me 
know how far my commission is to extend, and be 
confident of my punctual performance of whatever 
you enjoin. I must add a paragraph on this occa- 
sion, in regard to Mr. Ward, whose verses have 
been a great pleasure to me ; I will contrive they 
shall be so to the world, wherever I can find a 
proper opportunity of publishing them. 



LIFE OF PARNELL. 19 

I shall very soon print an entire collection of 
my own Madrigals, which I look upon as making 
my last will and testament, since in it I shall give 
all I ever intend to give (which I'll beg your's and 
the Dean's acceptance of) : you must look on me 
no more as a poet ; but a plain commoner who lives 
upon his own, and fears and natters no man. I 
hope before I die to discharge the debt I owe to 
Homer, and get upon the whole just fame enough 
to serve for an annuity for my own time, though 
I leave nothing to posterity. 

I beg our correspondence may be more frequent 
than it has been of late. I am sure my esteem and 
love for you never more deserved it from you, or 
more prompted it from you. I desired our friend 
Jervas, (in the greatest hurry of my business) to 
say a great deal in my name, both to yourself and 
the Dean, and must once more repeat the assurances 
to you both, of an unchanging friendship and un- 
alterable esteem, I am, dear sir, most entirely, 

Your, &e. 

TO THE SAME. 

My dear Sir, 
I was last summer in Devonshire, and am this 
winter at Mrs. Bonyer's. In the summer I wrote 
a poem, and in the winter I have published it; 
which I sent to you by Dr. Elwood. In the sum- 
mer I eat two dishes of toad-stools of my own 



20 LIFE OF PARNELL. 

gathering, instead of mushrooms ; and in the 
winter ♦ I have been sick with wine, as I am at 
this time, Messed be God for it, as I must bless 
God for all things. In the summer I spoke truth 
to damsels ; in the winter I told lies to ladies : 
now you know where I have been, and what I have 
done. I shall tell you what I intend to do the 
ensuing summer ; I propose to do the same thing 
I did last, which was to meet you in any part of 
England you would appoint ; don't let me have 
two disappointments. I have longed to hear from 
you, and to that intent teased you with three or 
four letters, but having no answer, I feared both 
yours and my letters might have miscarried. I 
hope my performance will please the Dean, whom 
I often wish for, and to whom I would have often 
wrote ; but for the same reasons I neglected writing 
to you. I hope I need not tell you how I love you, 
and how glad I shall be to hear from you ; which 
next to seeing you, would be the greatest satisfac- 
tion to your most affectionate friend and humble 
servant, 

J. G. 

TO THE SAME. 

Dear Mr. Archdeacon, 
Though my proportion of this epistle should be 
but a sketch in miniature, yet I take up half this 
page, having paid my club with the good company 



LIFE OF PARNELL. 21 

both for our dinner of chops, and for this paper. 
The poets will give you lively descriptions in their 
way : I shall only acquaint you with that which 
is directly my province. I have just set the last 
hand to a couplet, for so I may call two nymphs 
in one piece. They are Pope's favorites ; and 
though few, you w T ill guess must have cost me 
more pains than any nymphs can be worth. He 
is so unreasonable as to expect that I should have 
made them as beautiful upon canvass as he has 

done upon paper. If this same Mr. P should 

omit to w 7 rite for the dear frogs, and the Pervigi- 
lium, I must entreat you not to let me languish for 
them, as I have done ever since they crossed the 
seas. Remember by what neglects, &c. we missed 
them when we lost you, and therefore I have not 
yet forgiven any of those triflers that let them es- 
cape and run those hazards. I am going on at the 
old rate, and want you and the Dean prodigiously, 
and am in hopes of making you a visit this sum- 
mer, and of hearing from you both now you are 
together. Fortescue, I am sure, will be concerned 
that he is not in Cornhill, to set his hand to these 
presents, not only as a witness, but as a 
Serviteur tres-humble, 

C. Jervas. 



It is so great an honour to a poor Scotchman to 
be remembered at this time of day, especially by 



22 LIFE OF PARNELL. 

an inhabitant of the Glacialis Ierne, that I take 
it very thankfully, and have with nry good friends 
remembered you at our table, in the chophouse in 
Exchange Alley. There wanted nothing to com- 
plete our happiness but your company, and our 
dear friend the Dean's : I am sure the whole en- 
tertainment would have been to his relish. Gay 
has got so much money by walking the streets, 
that he is ready to set up his equipage : he is just 
going to the Bank to negotiate some exchange 
bills. Mr. Pope delays his second volume of his 
Homer till the martial spirit of the rebels is quite 
quelled, it being judged that the first part did some 
harm that way. Our love again and again to the 
dear Dean ; fuimus Tories ; I can say no more. 

Arbuthnot. 



Whsn a man is conscious that he does no good 
himself, the next thing is to cause others to do 
some. I may claim some merit this way, in 
hastening this testimonial from your friends above 
writing : their love to you indeed wants no spur, 
their ink wants no pen, their pen wants no hand, 
their hand wants no heart, and so forth (after the 
manner of Rabelais, which is betwixt some mean- 
ing and no meaning) ; and yet it may be said, 
when present thought and opportunity is wanting, 
their pens want ink, their hands want pens, their 
hearts want hands, &c. till time, place, and eon- 



LIFE OF PARNELL. 23 

veniency concur to set them a writing 1 , as at pre- 
sent, a sociable meeting*, a good dinner, warm fire, 
and an easy situation do, to the joint labour and 
pleasure of this epistle. 

Wherein if I should say nothing I should say 
much (much being included in my love, though 
my love be such, that if I should say much, I 
should say nothing, it being (as Cowley says) 
equally possible either to conceal or to express it. 

If I were to tell you the thing I wish above all 
things, it is to see you again ; the next is, to see 
here your treatise of Zoilus, with the Batracho- 
muomachia, and the Pervigilium Veneris, both 
which poems are master-pieces in several kinds ; 
and I question not the prose is as excellent in its 
sort, as the Essay on Homer. Nothing can be 
more glorious to that great author, than that the 
same hand which raised his best statue, and decked 
it with its old laurels, should also hang up the 
scare-crow of his miserable critic, and gibbet up 
the carcass of Zoilus, to the terror of the writings 
of posterity. More, and much more, upon this 
and a thousand other subjects will be the matter 
of my next letter, wherein I must open all the 
friend to you. At this time I must be content 
with telling you, I am, faithfully, your most affec- 
tionate and humble servant, 

A. Pope. 



24 LIFE OF PARNELL. 



TO THE SAME, 



Dear Sir, 
I must own I have long* owed you a letter, but you 
must own you have owed me one a good deal 
longer. Besides I have but two people in the 
whole kingdom of Ireland to take care of, the 
Dean and you : but you have several who com- 
plain of your neglect in England. Mr. Gay com- 
plains, Mr. Harcourt complains, Mr. Jervas com- 
plains, Mr. Arbuthnot complains, my Lord com- 
plains ; I complain. (Take notice of this figure 
of iteration, when you make your next sermon.) 
Some say, you are in deep discontent at the new 
turn of affairs ; others, that you are so much in 
the Archbishop's good graces, that you will not 
correspond with any that have seen the last minis- 
try. Some affirm, you have quarrelled with Pope 
(whose friends they observe daily fall from him, on 
account of his satirical and comical disposition) ; 
others, that you are insinuating yourself into the 
opinions of the ingenious Mr. What-do-ye-call- 
him. Some think you are preparing your sermons 
for the press, and others, that you will transform 
them into essays, and moral discourses. But the 
only excuse that I will allow you is, your attention 
to the life of Zoilus. The frogs already seem to 
croak for their transportation to England, and are 
sensible how much that Doctor is cursed and 



LIFE OF PARNELL. 25 

hated, who introduced their species into your na- 
tion ; therefore, as you dread the wrath of St. Pa- 
trick, send them hither, and rid your kingdom of 
those pernicious and loquacious animals. 

I have at length received your poem out of 
Mr. Addison's hands, which shall be sent as 
soon as you order it, and in what manner you 
shall appoint. I shall, in the mean time, give 
Mr. Tooke a packet for you, consisting of divers 
merry pieces ; Mr. Gay's new farce ; Mr. Bur- 
nett's letter to Mr. Pope ; Mr. Pope's Temple of 
Fame ; Mr. Thomas Burnet's Grumbler on Mr. 
Gay ; and the Bishop of Salisbury's Elegy, written 
either by Mr. Cary or some other hand. Mr. 
Pope is reading a letter, and in the mean time I 
make use of the pen, to testify my uneasiness in 
not hearing from you. I find success, even in the 
most trivial things, raises the indignation of a 
scribbler ; for I, for my what-d'-ye- call-it, could 
neither escape the fury of Mr. Burnet or the Ger- 
man Doctor; then where will rage end, when 
Homer is to be translated ? Let Zoilus hasten to 
your friend's assistance, and envious criticism shall 
be no more. I am in hopes that we order our 
affairs so, as to meet this summer at the Bath ; for 
Mr. Pope and myself have thoughts of taking a 
trip thither. You shall preach, and we will write 
lampoons, for it is esteemed as great an honour to 
leave the Bath for fear of a broken head, as for a 
terrae filius of Oxford to be expelled. I have no 



26 LIFE OF PARNELL. 

place at court, therefore, that I may not entirely 
be without one every where, show that I have 
a place in your remembrance. 

Your most affectionate faithful servants, 

A. Pope and J. Gay. 

Homer will be published in three weeks. 



DR. PARNELL TO MR. POPE. 

I am writing* to you a long letter, but all the tedi- 
ousness I feel in it is, that it makes me during the 
time think more intently of my being far from you. 
I fancy, if I were with you, I could remove some 
of the uneasiness which you may have felt from the 
opposition of the world ; and which you should be 
ashamed to feel, since it is but the testimony which 
one part of it gives you, that your merit is unques- 
tionable. What would you have otherwise, from 
ignorance, envy, or those tempers which vie with 
you in your own way? I know this in mankind, 
that when our ambition is unable to attain its end, 
it is not only wearied, but exasperated too at the 
vanity of its labours ; then we speak ill of happier 
studies, and sighing, condemn the excellence which 
we find above our reach. 

My Zoilus, which you used to write about, I 
finished last spring, and left in town. I waited 
till I came up to send it you, but not arriving here 



LIFE OF PARNELL. 27 

before your book was out, imagined it a lost piece 
of labour. If you will still have it, you need only 
write me word. 

I have here seen the first book of Homer, which 
came out at a time when it could not but appear 
as a kind of setting up against you. My opinion 
is, that you may, if you please, give them thanks 
who writ it. Neither the numbers nor the spirit 
have an equal mastery with yours ; but what sur- 
prises me more is, that, a scholar being concerned, 
there should happen to be some mistakes in the 
author's sense ; such as putting the light of Pal- 
las's eyes into the eyes of Achilles, making the 
taunt of Achilles to Agamemnon (that he should 
have spoils when Troy should be taken), to be a 
cool and serious proposal ; the translating what 
you call ablutions by the word offals , and so leav- 
ing water out of the rite of lustration, &c. but you 
must have taken notice of all this before. I write 
not to inform you, but to show I always have you 
at heart. 

I am, &c. 



POPE TO LORD OXFORD. 

My Lord, Oct. 81, 1721. 

Your lordship may be surprised at the liberty I 
take in writing to you, though you will allow me 
always to remember, that you once permitted me 



28 LIFE OF PARNELL. 

that honour, in conjunction with some others who 
better 'deserved it. I hope you will not wonder, I 
am still desirous to have you think me your grate- 
ful and faithful servant ; but I own, I have an 
ambition still farther, to have others think me so, 
which is the occasion I give your lordship the 
trouble of this. Poor Parnelle, before he died, 
left me the charge of publishing the few remains 
of his. I have a strong desire to make them, their 
author and their publisher, 1 more considerable, by 
addressing and dedicating them all to you. There 
is a pleasure in bearing testimony to truth, and a 
vanity perhaps, which is at least as excusable as 
any vanity can be. I beg you, my lord, to allow 
me to gratify it in prefixing this paper of honest 
verses to the book. I send the book itself, which I 
dare say you'll receive more satisfaction in perusing, 
than you can from any thing written upon the sub- 
ject of yourself. Therefore I am a good deal in 
doubt whether you will care for any such addition 
to it. All I shall say for it is, that it is the onlj 
dedication I ever writ, and shall be the only one, 
whether you accept of it or not, for I will not bow 
the knee to a less man than my Lord Oxford, and 
I expect to see no greater in my time. After all, 
if your lordship will tell my Lord Harley that I 
must not do this, you may depend upon a suppres- 

1 Lintot paid to Pope the sum of fifteen pounds for Par- 
Hell's Poems, 13th of December, 1721. See McholTs 
Liter. Anec. vol. viii. p. 300. 



LIFE OF PARNELL. 29 

sion of these verses, (the only copy whereof I send 
you) but you never shall suppress that great, sin- 
cere, and entire respect with which I am always, 

My Lord, your, &c. 



THE EARL OF OXFORD TO MR. POPE. 

Sir, Brampton Castle, Nov. 6, 1721. 

I received your packet, which could not but give 
me great pleasure, to see you preserve an old 
friend in your memory, for it must needs be very 
agreeable to be remembered by those we highly 
value. But then, how much shame did it cause 
me when I read your very fine verses enclosed ? 
My mind reproached me how far short I came of 
what your great friendship, and delicate pen would 
partially describe me ; you ask my consent to pub- 
lish it ; to what straits doth this reduce me ? I look 
back indeed to those evenings I have usefully 
and pleasantly spent with Mr. Pope, Dr. Parnell, 
Dean Swift, the Doctor, 1 &c. I should be glad 
the world knew you admitted me to your friend- 
ship, and since your affection is too hard for your 
udgment, I am contented to let the world know 
how well Mr. Pope can write upon a barren sub- 
ject. I return you an exact copy of the verses, 
that I may keep the original, as a testimony of the 

1 Arbuthnot. 



30 LIFE OF PARNELL. 

only error you have been guilty of. I hope very 
speedily to embrace you in London, and to assure 
you of the particular esteem and friendship where- 
with I am your, &c. 

From these letters, says Goldsmith, we may 
conclude, as far as their testimony can go, that 
Parnell was an agreeable, a generous, and sincere 
man, indeed, he took care that his friends should 
always see him to the best advantage, for when 
he found his fits of spleen and uneasiness, which 
sometimes lasted for weeks together, returning, 
he retreated with all expedition to the remote 
parts of Ireland, and there made out a gloomy 
kind of satisfaction in giving hideous descrip- 
tions of the solitude to which he retired, — from 
many of his unpublished pieces which I have 
seen, and from others which have appeared, it 
would seem that scarce a bog in his neighbour- 
hood was left without reproach, and scarce a 
mountain round his head unsung. " I can easily, 
(says Pope, in one of his letters, 1 in answer to a 
dreary description of Parneirs) I can easily image 

1 This fragment of a letter is not to be found in Pope's 
correspondence as published in Dr. Warton's edition. I 
should therefore suppose that Goldsmith possessed the MS. 
which has not been preserved. I may here remark, that 
Pope's correspondence is not published in Warton's edition 
with the correctness or completeness that could be desired. 
How far the late editors may have supplied his deficiences, 



LIFE OF PARNELL. 31 

to my thoughts the solitary hours of your ereme- 
tical life in the mountains, from something pa- 
rellel to it in my own retirement at Binfield !" and 
in another place " We are both miserably enough 
situated, God knows, but of the two evils, I think 
the solitudes of the south are to be preferred to the 
desarts of the west." In this manner Pope an- 
swered him in the tone of his own complaints, and 
these descriptions of the imagined distresses of his 
situation, served to give him a temporary relief; 
they threw off the blame from himself, and laid 
upon fortune and accident, a wretchedness of his 
own creating." 1 

Parnell's situation was rendered more irksome 
by some mortifications which he might have avoided ; 
he could not live without company when in Ireland ; 
and yet he despised or neglected a society so in- 
ferior in cultivation of mind and polish of manners 
to his English friends. Those whom he met at Lord 
Oxford's table, and Pope's library made him fasti- 
dious of humbler connexions ; he did not exercise 
his arts of pleasing; the complaints he uttered 
against his situation were not relished by persons 
who lived contentedly around him ; and who con- 
sidered his reproaches as reminding them of an 

I am not able to say, but a new and more perfect edition of 
Pope's works is much to be desired. Who so able to give 
one, as the Athenaeus of the present age, the accomplished 
author of the Curiosities of literature, &c. 
1 Goldsmith's Life, p. xv. 



32 LIFE OF PARNELL. 

inferiority which they were not willing to confess, 
nor perhaps able to appreciate; in fact, as his bio- 
grapher observes, " he sacrificed for a week or two 
in England a whole year's happiness, by his country 
fireside at home." Yet who ever exchanged the 
fascinations of a society in which the polished 
graces and gentle benevolence of manner were 
united with refined learning, and the various ac- 
quirements of a cultivated taste-, for a lower grade 
of life, without feeling how much easier it would 
be to pass at once into perfect solitude ; and how 
sensitive in that delightful and artificial atmos- 
phere the mind becomes to the slightest shock, or 
ruder breath that it meets with in its altered inter- 
course with the world. 

As his fortune was handsome, and his disposi- 
tion liberal, his manner of life was elegant and 
even splendid. He had no great value for money, 
and indeed he so far exceeded his income, as to 
leave his estate somewhat impaired at his death. 
As soon as he collected his rents, he went over to 
England, where the friendship of Pope 1 always 
received him with open arms ; and where the wit 
and good humour of Gay and Arbuthnot, and the 
fascination of Bolingbroke's society, repaid him 

1 In addition to Lord Oxford ; — Pope, Swift, Arbuthnot, 
Gay, and Jervas, were the persons to whom Parnell was 
more particularly attached ; his general society I presume 
to have been much the same as Swift's, and what that was, 
may be seen in the Journal to Stella. 



LIFE OF PARNELL, 33 

for his weary months of solitude at Clogher or 
Finglas. 

About this time Pope and his friends had formed 
themselves into a society which they called the 
Scriblerus Club, of which Parnell was a member. 
It appears from some MS. anecdotes left by Pope, 
that Parnell had a principal share ' in the origin 
of the sciences from the monkies in Ethiopia/ 1 
The life of Zoilus was intended as a satire on 
Dennis 2 and Theobald, with whom the club waged 
eternal war. 

The life of Homer prefixed to the translation of 
the Iliad was written by Parnell, and corrected 
by Pope, who assures us, that this correction was 
not effected without great labour. " It is still stiff, 
(he says) and was written still stiffer; as it is, I 
verily think it cost me more pains in the correct- 
ing, than the writing it would have done." That 
Parnell's prose, as Goldsmith says, is awkward 
and inharmonious, and that Pope would have 
written in a style more elegant and polished, may 
be well believed ; but I question whether Pope 

1 The origin of the sciences from the monkies of Ethiopia 
was written by me, Dean Parnell and Dr. Arbuthnot. 

Spence's Anecdotes, p. 201. 

2 Dennis's self-conceit, vanity, and envy, certainly de- 
served a heavy castigation : his preface to his Comical Gal- 
lants is a most extraordinary production of egotism and 
impudence ; while the play itself is a mass of dulness and 
stupidity. The learning of Theobald might have shielded 
him from contempt. 

D 



34 LIFE OF PARNELL. 

with his imperfect learning would have ventured 
on an' original life of Homer, and whether it was 
not safer to leave it in Parnell's hands.' Every 
page of Pope's Homer shows equally his poetical 
genius, and his want of scholarship. I have no 
doubt that he set a high value on Parnell's assist- 
ance, and that it was of essential service to him 
in understanding his author ; but no assistance of 
friends, learned enough and anxious to assist him, 
could supply his own deficiencies in classical taste 
and knowledge ; Pope was never wanting in vigi- 
lance and industry ; he consulted the commentators 
as to what was difficult or doubtful, and he borrowed 
from the former translators when they were happy 
and successful in their expression ; but he never 
caught the manner, or imbibed the spirit of his 
original ; for he had never studied the language 
in which it was written. 1 I consider Pope's 

1 The difficulties attending a translation of Homer exist, 
though in a graduated scale, in the attempts to reflect in pur 
language the style and character of the other Grecian poets. 
These principally arise from the different structure, and great 
inferiority of our language, by which a translator is placed 
between two difficulties. He must either endeavour to 
raise his poetical language to the power of the original, and 
emulate through the dull and horny medium of the Gothic, 
the transparent and crystal beauty of the Greek, which will 
lead him, as it did Pope, to superfluous and perhaps 
cumbrous embellishment ; or if he attempts, like Cowper, 
to give a facsimile of his original, he will find his own in- 
ferior language unable to support him, — what was plain, with 
him will become flat, the simple will be naked and bald, 



LIFE OF PARNELL. 35 

general alteration of Horner's style to be a much 
greater fault, than the mistakes which he made 
in the meaning" of particular passages. If I may 
so express myself, he was attempting to follow and 
imitate the flight of the Grecian poet, without 
possessing the same variety of movement, or equal 
flexibility of wing. ' Perhaps the greatest charm, 
(says a critic 1 of much taste and knowledge) 
of the most sublime of all the ancient poets, is a 
variety and discrimination of manner and cha- 
racter in which Shakespeare is his only rival.' 
The friends of Pope were men of wit and humour, 
of admirable genius, and extensive information; 
but with the exception of Parnell and of Arbuthnot, 
he had no one to whom he could apply for infor- 
mation on subjects of Greek literature : and they 
were all so dazzled with the splendour of his trans- 

and the venerable and patriarchal majesty of the Grecian 
bard will descend from its illustrious elevation, to sit on 
the steps of the throne which it had once dignified and 
adorned. Pope's Homer, like Dryden's translation of Vir- 
gil, is exceedingly valuable as an English poem ; in them 
united, is to be found, every curious modulation of rhythm, 
and every beautiful variety of expression that our heroic 
metre admits. Pope somewhere mentions that injudi- 
cious friends, for ten years, persecuted him with the most 
importunate persuasion to give a new translation of Virgil. 
What accurate estimation of his own powers, and what res- 
pect for Dryden, was included in the silent and steady 
refusal. 

1 See Mr. Uvedale Price's essay on the Mod. Pronun. of 
the Anc. Languages, p. 186. 



36 LIFE OF PARNELL. 

lation, and so delighted with its many acknow- 
ledged beauties; that they were more willing to 
expatiate on its merits, and unfold its charms, 
than compare it with an original which they them- 
selves imperfectly understood. In addition to this, 
and speaking without any affectation of pedantry, 
a classical simplicity of taste was no more the cha- 
racteristic excellence of that time, than solid and 
extensive learning. Amidst the general shout of 
approbation, old Bentley's sarcastic growl was heard 
with indifference or contempt ; but Bentley was 
the only one among them who had studied or un- 
derstood the subject of dispute ; what he said was 
strictly true; it was not the effusion of envy or 
mean detraction : the bard of Twickenham was no 
rival of his ; nor was Bentley ever unjust, where 
solid attainments or splendid talents could claim 
respect. He did not detract from the merits of 
Pope's translation as a poem ; he did not enter 
into the subject of its original beauties ; but he 
said it was not Homer, and he was right. 

To return to Parnell, Goldsmith mentions that 
the Scriblerus 1 Club, when the members were all in 

1 The memoirs of Martinus Scriblerus rose from a happy 
thought, and were happily executed. They were the 
flower of that wit, and humour, and sagacity, of which the 
Dunciad was the strong and bitter root. In the edi- 
tions of Pope, this part of his works does not seem to 
me to be faithfully edited. There is a chapter called " An- 
nus Mirabilis,'' which should precede ' Stradling versus 
Styles/ that is omitted. The chapter called The Double 



LIFE OF PARNELL. 37 

town, were seldom asunder, and often made ex- 
cursions on foot, into the country. Swift was 
usually the butt of the company, and if a trick 
was played he was always the sufferer. The whole 
party once agreed to walk down to the house of 

Lord B , who is still living, and whose seat is 

about twelve miles from town. 2 As eve 17 one 
agreed to make the best of his way, Swift, who 
was remarkable for walking, soon left all the rest 
behind him, fully resolved upon his arrival to choose 
the very best bed for himself, for that was his cus- 
tom. In the mean time Parnell was determined 
to prevent his intentions, and taking horse arrived 

at Lord B 's by another way, long before him. 

Having apprized his lordship of Swift's design, it 
was resolved at any rate to keep him out of the 
house, but how to effect this was the question. 
Swift never had the small-pox, and was very much 
afraid of catching it. As soon therefore as he ap- 
peared striding along at some distance from the 
house, one of his lordship's servants was dispatched 

Mistress has been translated, altered, and enlarged, the 
humour destroyed, and much gross ribaldry and vulgar in- 
decency introduced by Pigault Le Brun, in his Melanges 
Litteraires et Critiques, vol. ii. p. 73—144, called Cause 
Celebre ; he has cantharadized the story ; Warton is not con- 
sistent in his omissions, if they were regulated by an atten- 
tion to decency and propriety. 

2 By Lord B , I presume, is meant Lord Bathurst. 

He had at that time a seat, or villa, somewhere beyond 
Twickenham, which he subsequently relinquished, v. P * types 
Lett, to Swift, liv. 



38 LIFE OF PARNELL. 

to inform him that the small- pox was then making 
great ravages in the family, but that there was a 
summer-house with a field bed at his service at 
the end of the garden. There the disappointed 
Dean was obliged to retire, and take a cold supper 
that was sent out to him, while the rest was feast- 
ing within. However, at last they took compassion 
on him, and upon his promising never to choose 
the best bed again, they permitted him to make 
one of the company. 

Goldsmith considers that the Scriblerus 1 Club 
began with Parnell, and that his death ended the 
connexion ; if so, it was not of very long continu- 
ance, for Parnell's first excursion to England be- 
gan about the year 1706, and he died in 1718. 

From his long residence in Ireland, and from 
little of his correspondence having been preserved, 
Parnell has not been known as he deserves, nor is 
his name so familiar to us as that of many others 
of the friends of Pope, but he seems to have yielded 
to few of them in talent or acquirement ; to none 

1 I suppose it to be generally known, that the name 
" Martinus Scriblerus" took its rise from a joke of Lord 
Oxford's, who used to call Swift, Dr. Martin. The poem 
of the Dunciad was suggested to Pope by Swift. See 
Swift's Letters, vol. xii. p. 440. " The taste of England 
is infamously corrupted by shoals of wretches who write for 
their bread, and therefore I had reason to put Mr. Pope 
on writing the poem called the Dunciad ; and to hale those 
scoundrels out of their obscurity, by telling their names at 
length," &c. 



LIFE OF PARNELL. 39 

in the more valuable virtues of the heart. It is 
said, that the festivity of his conversation, the be- 
nevolence of his heart, and the generosity of his 
temper, were qualities that might serve to cement 
any society, and that could hardly be replaced 
when he was taken away. In his later years, do- 
mestic sorrows so preyed on a nervous and ex- 
cited mind, as to drive him from solitude, and he 
sought even in common and promiscuous com- 
pany a temporary oblivion of his affliction. That 
he fondly cherished the remembrance of the esti- 
mable partner of his life whom he so early lost, seems 
to be a fact known to his friends and acknowledged 
by his biographers ; but that he fell a martyr to 
conjugal fidelity (as Goldsmith asserts), may be 
received with some moderate limitation. Our ma- 
terials 1 are too scanty and imperfect to enable us 
to determine what was the exact cause of ParneU's 
death, which took place before his fortieth year ; but 
from the passages in Swift's Journal, I should think 
it not improbable that he died of a slow nervous 
decline. 

Perhaps it would be as well to insert, in this part 
of the narrative, the mention made of him by Swift 
while both were resident in London, and when the 

1 Johnson is reported to have said " Goldsmith's Life of 
Parnell is poor, not that it is poorly written, but that he 
had poor materials ; for nobody can write the life of a man, 
but those who have eat and drank, and lived in social inter- 
course with him." Boswell's Life of Johnson, ii. p. 163. 



40 LIFE OF PARNELL. 

latter zealously introduced him to the notice of the 
ministry. Parnell, however, gained nothing by 
his powerful connexions, but a few dinners and 
compliments from Lord Oxford, and some poetical 
criticisms from Mr. Secretary St. John ; his pre- 
ferment he owed entirely to the faithful and per- 
severing friendship of the Dean. 

Swift, in his Journal to Stella, July 1, 1712, 
writes — ' On Sunday Archdeacon Parnell came 
here to see me. It seems he has been ill for grief 
of his wife's death, and has been two months at 
Bath. He has a mind to go to Dunkirk with Jack 
Hill, and I persuaded him to it, and have spoke to 
Hill to receive him, but I doubt he won't have 
spirit to go.' 

On the 22d December, of the same year, he 
says — ' I gave Lord Bolingbroke a poem of Par- 
nell's. I made Parnell insert some compliments 
in it to his lordship. He is extremely pleased with 
it, and read some parts of it to-day to Lord Trea- 
surer, who liked it as much. And indeed he out- 
does all our poets here a bar's length. Lord Boling- 
broke has ordered me to bring him to dinner on 
Christmas day, and I made Lord Treasurer promise 
to see him, and it may one day do Parnell a kind- 
ness. You know Parnell, I believe I have told 
you of that poem.' 

Dec. 25. I carried Parnell to dine at Lord 
Bolingbroke's, and he behaved himself very well, 
and Lord Bolingbroke is mightily pleased with him, 



LIFE OF PARNELL. 41 

Dec. 30. He (Lord Oxford) cannot dine with 
Parnell and me, at Lord Bolingbroke's to-morrow, 
but says he will see Parnell some other time. I 
praise up Parnell partly to spite the envious Irish 
folks here, particularly Tom Leigh. 

Dec. 31. To-day Parnell and I dined with Lord 
Bolingbroke, to correct Parnell's poem. I made 
him shew all the places he disliked, and when 
Parnell has corrected it fully, he shall print it. 

Jan. 6, 1713. Lord Bolingbroke, and Parnell, 
and I, dined by invitation with my friend 1 Dar- 
tineuf, whom you have heard me talk of. Lord 
Bolingbroke likes Parnell mightily, and it is 
pleasant to see that one who hardly passed for any 
thing in Ireland, makes his way here with a little 
friendly persuading. 

Jan. 31. I contrived it so, that Lord Treasurer 
came to me and asked (I had Parnell by me) 
whether that was Dr. Parnell, and came up and 
spoke to him with great kindness, and invited him 
to his house. I value myself on making the 
Ministry desire to be acquainted with Parnell, and 
not Parnell with the Ministry. His poem is 
almost fully corrected, and shall be out soon. 

Feb. 14. I took Parnell this morning, and we 
walked to see poor Harrison. I told Parnell I was 
afraid to knock at the door, my heart misgave me. 

Feb. 19. I was at court to-day, to speak to Lord 
Bolingbroke to look over Parnell's poem since it 

1 See Pope's Tra. of Hor. Lib. ii. S. 2. ver. 87. 



42 LIFE OF PARNELL. 

is corrected, and Parnell and I dined with him, and 
he has * shewn him three or four more places to alter 
a little. Lady Bolingbroke came down to us while 
we were at dinner, and Parnell stared at her as if 
she were a goddess. I thought she was like Par- 
nell's wife, and he thought so too. 

Parnell is much pleased with Lord Bolingbroke's 
favour to him, and I hope it may one day turn to 
to his advantage. His poem will be printed in a 
few days. 

March 6. I thought to have made Parnell dine 
with him (Lord Treasurer) but he was ill; his 
head is out of order like mine, but more constant, 
poor boy. 

March 9. I dined with my friend Lewis, and 
the Provost, and Parnell and Ford were with us. 

March 20. ParnelFs poem will be published on 
Monday, and to-morrow I design he shall present 
it to Lord Treasurer and Lord Bolingbroke, at 
court. The poor lad is almost always out of order 
with his head. Burke's wife is his sister. She 
has a little of the pert Irish way. 

March 27. Parnell's poem is mightily esteemed, 
but poetry sells ill. 

April 1 . Parnell and I dined with Dartineuf to- 
day, after dinner we all went to Lord Bolingbroke's, 
who had desired me to dine with him, but I would 
not, because I heard it was to look over a dull poem 
of one Parson Trapp's, upon the peace. 

April 21. I dined at an ale-house with Parnell 



LIFE OF PA KNELL. 43 

and Berkeley, for I am not in humour to go 
among the ministers. 

Swiff s Letters, vol. xi. p. 259. 

April 30, 1713. 

I suppose your Grace has heard that the 
Queen has made Dr. Stone Bishop of Dromore, 
and that I am to succeed him in his Deanery. 
Dr. Parnell, who is now in town, writ last post to 
your grace, to desire the favour of you that he 
may have my small prebend. He thinks it will 
be of some advantage to come into the chapter, 
where it may possibly be in my power to serve 
him in a way agreeable to him, although in no 
degree equal to his merits, by which he has dis- 
tinguished himself so much, that he is in great 
esteem with the ministiy, and others of the most 
valuable persons in this town. He has been many 
years under your grace's direction, and has a very 
good title to your favour, so that I believe it will 
be unnecessaiy to add how much I should be 
obliged to your grace's compliance in this matter : 
and I natter myself that his being agreeable to 
me will be no disadvantage to him in your grace's 
opinion. 

May 23, 1713. You will find a letter there (at 
Bath) as old as that, with a requisition in favour 
of Dr. Parnell, who, by his own merit, is in the 
esteem of the ministers here. 



44 LIFE OF PARNELL, 

From Gay* June 8, 1714. 

I am, this evening, to be at Mr. Lewis's with 
the Provost, Mr. Ford, Parnell, and Pope. 

From Dr. Arbuthnot, June 12, 1714. 

I remember the first part of the Dragon's x verses 
was complaining of ill usage, and at last he con- 
cludes, 

He that comes not to rule, will be sure to obey, 

When summoned by Arbuthnot, Pope, Parnell, and Gay. 

Parnell has been thinking of going chaplain to my 
Lord Clarendon, but they will not say whether he 
should or not. 

From Dr. Arbuthnot, June 26, 1714. 

I have solicited both Lord Treasurer and Lord 
Bolingbroke strongly for the Parnelian, and gave 
them a memorial the other day. Lord Treasurer 
speaks mightily affectionately of him, which you 
know is an ill sign in ecclesiastical preferments. 

From Lord Bolingbroke. July 13, 1714. 

Indeed I wish I had been with you, with Pope, 
and Parnell, quibus neque animi candidiores. in a 
little time perhaps I may have leisure to be happy. 

From Dr. Arbuthnot. July 17, 1714. 
I was going to make an epigram upon the im- 

1 i. e. Lord Oxford's. 



LJJE OF PARNELL. 45 

agination of your burning your own history with 
a burning glass. I wish Pope or Parnell would 
put it into rhyme. 

From Charles Ford. July 20, 1714. 
Pope and Parnell tell me you design them a 
visit. When do you go ? If you are with them 
in the middle of the week, I should be glad to meet 
you there. 

From Dr. Arbuthnot. 
The Parnelian who was to have carried this 
letter, seems to have changed his mind by some 
sudden turn in his affairs ; but I wish his hopes 
may not be the effect of some accidental thing 
working upon his spirits, rather than any well 
grounded project. 

From Swift. December 2, 1736. 
You began to distinguish so confounded early, 
that your acquaintance with distinguished men of 
all kinds was almost as ancient as mine, I mean 
Wycherley, Rowe, Prior, Congreve, Addison, Par- 
nell, &c. 

From Sir Charles Wogan to Swift. 1732. 
Let not the English wits, and particularly my 
friend Mr. Pope (whom I had the honour to bring 
up to London from our retreat in the forest 
of Windsor, to dress a la mode, and introduce 
at Wills's Coffee House) run down a country as 



46 LIFE OF PARNELL. 

the haunt of dulness, to whose geniuses he owns 
himself so much indebted. What encomiums does 
he not lay out upon Roscommon and Walsh in the 
close of his excellent Essay on Criticism ? How 
gratefully does he express his thanks to Dr. Swift, 
Sir Samuel Garth, Mr. Congreve, and my poor 
friend and neighbour Dr. Parnell, in the pre- 
face to his admirable translation of the Iliad, in 
return for the many lights and lessons they admi- 
nistered to him, both in the opening and the pro- 
secution of that great undertaking ? 

Pope to Gay. 1714. 

Dr. Parnelle and I have been inseparable ever 
since you went. We are now at the Bath, where 
(if you are not, as I heartily hope, better en- 
gaged), your coming would be the greatest plea- 
sure to us in the world. Talk not of expenses. 
Homer shall support his children. I beg a line of 
you, directed to the Post House in Bath. Poor 
Parnelle is in an ill state of health. 

From Pope to Gay (without date^). 

The ill effects of contention and squabbling, so 
lively described in the first Iliad, make Dr. Par- 
nelle and myself continue in the most exemplary 
union in every thing. We deserve to be worshiped 
by all the poor, divided, factious, interested poets 
of this world. As we rise in our speculations daily, 
we are grown so grave, that we have not conde- 



LIFE OF PARNELL. 47 

scended to laugh at any of the idle things about 
us this week. I have contracted a severity of as- 
pect from deep meditation on high subjects, equal 
to the formidable front of black-brow'd Jupiter, 
and become an awful nod as well, when I assent 
to some grave and weighty proposition of the Doctor, 
or enforce a criticism of mine own. In a word, 
Young himself has not acquired more tragic ma- 
jesty in his aspect by reading his own verses, than 
I by Homer's. In this state I cannot consent to 
your publication of that ludicrous, trifling, bur- 
lesque you write about. Dr. Parnelle joins also 
in my opinion, that it will by no means be well to 

print it. 

From Pope to Gay, 

Dr. Parnelle will honour Tonson's Miscellany 
with some very beautiful copies at my request. 
He enters heartily into our design. I only fear his 
stay in town may chance to be but short. 

Pope to Jervas. 1716. 

Poor poetry ! the little that is left of it here, 
longs to cross the seas, and leave Eusden in full 
possession of the British laurel. And we be- 
gin to wish you had the singing of our poets as 
well as the croaking of our frogs to yourselves, in 
s&cula scBCulorum. It would be well in exchange, 
if Parnelle, and two or three more of your swans 
would come hither, especially that swan, who like 
a true modern one, does not sing at all, Dr. Swift. 



48 LIFE OF PARK ELL, 

Pope to Jervas, November 1716. 

The best amends you can make for' saying 
nothing 1 to me, is, by saying all the good you 
can of me, which is, that I heartily love and es- 
teem the Dean and Dr. Parnelle. Gay is yours 
and theirs. His spirit is awakened very much in 
the cause of the Dean, which has broke forth in a 
courageous couplet or two upon Sir Richard Black- 
more. He has printed it with his name to it, and 
bravely assigns no other reason than that the said 
Sir Richard has abused Dr. Swift. I have also 
suffered in the like cause, and shall suffer more, 
unless Parnelle sends me his Zoilus and Bookworm 
(which the Bishop of Clogher, I hear, greatly ex- 
tols), &c. 

Pope to Jervas* 

Having named the latter piece (The Batrachom 
of Homer), give me leave to ask what has become 
of Dr. Parnelle and his Frogs ? ' Oblitusque me- 
orum, obliviscendus et Mis,' might be Horace's 
wish, but will never be mine, while I have such 
meorums as Dr. Parnelle and Dr. Swift. If you 
have begun to be historical, I recommend to your 
hand the story which every pious Irishman ought 
to begin with, that of St. Patrick ; to the end you 
may be obliged (as Dr. Parnelle was when he trans- 
lated the Batrachomuomachia) to come into Eng- 



LIFE OF PARNELL. 4& 

land to espy the frogs, and such other vermin, as 
were never seen in that land since the time of that 

confessor/ 

Pope to* * *. 1718. 

This awakens the memory of some of those who 
have made a part in all these. Poor Parnelle ! 
Garth, Rowe ! you justly reprove me for not speak- 
ing* of the death of the last. Parnelle was too 
much in my mind, to whose memory I am erecting 
the best monument I can. What he gave me to 
publish was but a small part of what he left be- 
hind him ; but it was the best, and I will not make 
it worse by enlarging it. I'd fain know if he 
be buried at Chester or Dublin, and what care has 
been, or is to be taken for his monument, &c. 

From Dr. Arbuthnot. 1714. 
Martin's (i.e. Martinus Scriblerus) office is now 
the second door on the left hand in Dove Street, 
where he will be glad to see Dr. Parnelle, Mr. 
Pope and his old friends, to whom he can still 
afford half a pint of claret. 

Having now mentioned the facts which have 
come down to us, relating to Parnell's life, and 
which were chiefly obtained by the inquiries and 
researches of Goldsmith ;* I shall pass on to a short 
consideration of his poems. His biographer, whose 

1 Goldsmith was indebted for his information to Sir Joh; 
Parnell, the nephew of the poet, to Mr. and Mrs. Rogers 
his relations, and to his good friend, Mr. George Steevens. 

E 



50 LIFE OF PARNELL. 

opinion on subjects connected with poetry, must be 
received with the attention due to so great an autho- 
rity, gives the following favourable character of 
Parnell's talents ; it is written with discrimination 
and truth ; but that the allusions which he makes 
in strong disparagement of those who adopted a 
different style, of more elaborate structure, and more 
ornamental language, appear to me to derive their 
severity from something that acts more strongly on 
the mind than a mere difference of taste. This is 
not the place to enter into the consideration of the 
question ; but while I am persuaded that the ex- 
pression ' tawdry things,' cannot with any propriety 
be applied to the poetry of Gray or Collins (the per- 
sons whom Goldsmith had in his mind) ; I believe 
that their rich and ornamented style, their selected 
phraseology, their profuse imagery, and metapho- 
rical splendour to be the proper and essential con- 
stituents of the lyrical style in which they wrote ; 
and that there are grounds sufficient, as respects 
either poet, to assure us, that they were not igno- 
rant of the manner of expression that was required 
by the subject on which it was employed. The cri- 
ticism of Goldsmith seems also to press too strongly 
into an opinion which cannot be received, that there 
is only one style of superior and undisputed excel- 
lence ; and that others are faulty in proportion as 
they depart from it. I know of no poet of any 
eminence contemporary with him to whom the bio- 
grapher can allude, but those I mentioned ; except 



LIFE OF PARNELL. 51 

that the younger Warton may, perhaps, be added to 
the number ; and though I am aware of the dif- 
ference that exists between these writers in the 
respective conceptions of their subjects, in their 
taste and genius ; still in its application to any of 
them, I consider Goldsmith's criticism to be pushed 
far beyond the bounds of truth, and, in some parts 
of it, to be entirely erroneous. 

' Parnell (he says) is only to be considered as a 
poet, and the universal esteem in which his poems 
are held, and the reiterated pleasure they give in 
the perusal, are a sufficient test of their merit. He 
appears to me to be the last of that great school, 
that had modelled itself on the ancients, and taught 
English poetry to resemble what the generality of 
mankind have allowed to excel. A studious and 
correct observer of antiquity, he set himself to con- 
sider nature with the lights it lent him, and he 
found the more aid he borrowed from the one, the 
more delightfully he resembled the other. To 
copy nature is a task the most bungling workman 
is able to execute : to select such parts as contri- 
bute to delight, is reserved only for those whom 
accident has blessed with uncommon talents, or 
such as have read the ancients with indefatigable 
industry. Parnell is ever happy in the selection 
of his images, and scrupulously careful in the 
choice of his subjects. His productions bear no 
resemblance to those tawdry things which it has 
for some time been the fashion to admire ; in writ- 



52 LIFE OF PARNELL. 

ing which, the poet sits down without any plan, 
and heaps up splendid images without any selec- 
tion; when the reader grows dizzy with praise 
and admiration, and yet soon grows weary, he can 
scarcely tell why. Our poet on the contrary gives 
out his beauties with a more sparing hand. He is 
still carrying his reader forward, and just gives 
him refreshment sufficient to support him to his 
journey's end. At the end of his course, the reader 
regrets that his way has been so short, he wonders 
that it gave him so little trouble, and so resolves to 
go the journey over again. 

His poetical language is not less correct than 
his couplets are pleasing. He found it at that pe- 
riod at which it was brought to its highest pitch of 
refinement, and ever since his time it has been 
gradually debasing. It is indeed amazing, after 
what has been done by Dryden, Addison, and Pope, 
to improve and harmonize our native tongue, that 
their successors should have taken so much pains 
to involve it in pristine barbarity. These mis- 
guided innovators have not been content with 
restoring antiquated words and phrases, but have 
indulged themselves in the most licentious trans- 
positions and the harshest constructions, vainly 
imagining that the more their writings were unlike 
prose, the more they resemble poetry. They have 
adopted a language of their own, and call upon man- 
kind for admiration. All those who do not under- 
stand them are silent, and those who make out their 
meaning, are willing to praise, to show they under- 



LIFE OF PARNELL. 53 

stand. From these follies and affectations, the 
poems of Parnell are entirely free ; he has consi- 
dered the language of poetry as the language of 
life, and conveys the warmest thoughts in the sim- 
plest expression/ Such are the observations of 
Goldsmith ; I shall now proceed to a more parti- 
cular enumeration of our Poet's productions. 

" Hesiod, or the Rise of Woman." 1 — It would 
be difficult to praise too highly the ease, the 
sprightliness, and the fine poetical taste of this 
poem ; the subject is treated in a manner the most 
lively and agreeable ; the versification is polished 
and musical ; the images delicate and well se- 
lected ; a vein of humour at once elegant and rich 
pervades the whole. It approaches more closely 
to the manner of Pope's Rape of the Lock than any 
poem with which I am acquainted. It has the same 
cadences, the same structure of lines, even the same 
expressions ; and I consider it to have been much 
indebted to him for the high finish of its colours, 
and the exquisite beauties of its diction. This is 
not said in any disparagement of Parnell's powers, 
but I believe it to be acknowledged, that Pope took 
infinite pains in the revision and alteration of Par- 
nell's poems. In speaking of the Hermit, Gold- 
smith says, 2 — " It seems to have cost great labour 

1 This Poem was first published in a Miscellany of Ton- 
son's, which I do not happen to possess. 

2 See Goldsmith's Beauties of Eng. Poetry, 1. p. 29, and 
Swift's Journal to Stella, Dec. 23, 25, 1712 : Jan. 6, 1731 , 
Feb. 19, 1712-3 ; where it appears that Swift gave Parnell 
hints and corrections for his poems. 



54 LIFE OF PARNELL. 

both to Mr. Pope and Mr. Parnell himself to bring 
it to this perfection. " Upon the whole, this poem 
will fully justify the assertion of Hume, 3 at least 
that part of it that regards our poet. " It is suf- 
ficient to run over Cowley once ; but Parnell , 
after the fiftieth reading", is as fresh as the first.' ' 

Of the three songs which follow, Goldsmith says 
that two of them were written upon the Lady 
whom he afterwards married. There appears some 
reason to suppose that the first, " When thy beauty 
appears," was composed by Pope ; for it is men- 
tioned as his by Lord Peterborough, in a letter 
to Mrs. Howard. 4 

The iVnacreontic, " When Spring came on with 
fresh delight," is said to be a translation from the 
French. Goldsmith thinks that it is better than 
the original. The well known song that follows it, 
" Gay Bacchus liking Estcourt's wine," is a trans- 
lation of a poem by Augurellus. 

Invitat olim Bacchus coenam suos, 
Comum, Jocum, Cupidinem, &c. 

Parnell, in his translation, applied the characters 
to some of his friends ; no mention is made in 
Pope's edition, of its being a translation : indeed 
the latter part is entirely Parneirs. 

The " Fairy Tale" must rank among the most 
successful of our poet's productions ; the language 

2 See Hume's Essay on Simplicity and Refinement. 
4 See Suffolk's Letters, vol. i. p. 161, 



LIFE OF PARNELL. 55 

is simple and clear, the verse easy and natural, and 
the story appropriate to the style. Goldsmith says 
"it is incontestably one of the finest pieces in any 
language." 

The " Pervigilium Veneris" is translated in 
easy and flowing versification, though too para- 
phrastical ; yet few persons perhaps would have 
transferred its beauties more successfully ; for the 
delicacy, and select brevity of its expression, would 
baffle any attempt to exactness of imitation. In 
one or two places, Parnell appears to me to have 
missed the meaning, as 

Quando faciam, lit Chelidon, ut tacere desinam 1 

When shall I sing, as the swallow is now singing ? 
When will my spring arrive, • quando ver veniet 
meum !' Parnell however writes thus, 

How long in coming is my lovely spring, 

And when shall I, and when the swallow sing 1 

In the Batrachomuomachia, Parnell has pre- 
served the mock dignity of the original ; without 
ever stepping beyond the limits of a just propriety. 
The great defect of his version arises from his not 
having translated the Greek names of the combat- 
ants, which are formed with considerable humour, 
and this omission renders the English poem com- 
paratively flat. 

I am not sure whether the critics have decided 
as to the time in which this burlesque poem was. 
written ; or how they have accounted for its having 



56 LIFE OF PARNELL. 

borrowed the venerable name of the father of 
poetry ; but I will just mention that there is one 
passage in it, which at once precludes it from being 
the production of the author of the Iliad and Odys- 
sey, unless an interpolation by a later hand should 
be suspected. 

" Devoid of rest, with aching brows I lay, 
Till cocks proclaim'd the crimson dawn of day." 

There is no mention of this bird in Homer; 
probably it was not known till the return of the army 
of Alexander, who brought the Indian Jungle fowl 
home with them from the East, and domesticated 
them in Europe. 

The Epistle to Pope, 1 Goldsmith says, is one of 
the finest compliments that was ever paid to any 
poet, he hints at ParnelFs description of his resi- 
dence in Ireland being splenetic and untrue : and 
says that this poem gave much offence to his neigh- 
bours, who considered that they could supply him 
with learning and poetry, without an importation 
from Twickenham. 

The translation of some lines in the Rape of the 
Lock into rhyming Latin verse, was owing to the 
following circumstance. Before the Rape of the 
Lock was finished, 2 Pope was reading it to Swift, 

1 Johnson says, " that the verses on Barrenness, in the 
poem to Pope, are borrowed from Secundus, but he could 
not find the passage. 

8 I rose from a late perusal of the Lutrin of Boileau. 



LIFE OF PARNELL. 57 

who listened attentively, while Parnell went in 
and out of the room appearing to take no notice 
of it. However, by dint of his good memory, he 
brought away the description of the toilet pretty 
exactly. This he versified, and on the next day, 
when Pope was reading the poem to some friends, 
he insisted that part of the description was stolen 
from an old monkish manuscript. Goldsmith says 
he was assured of the truth of this account ; he 
adds, that it was not till after some time that Pope 
was delivered from the confusion which it at first 
produced. 

The Eclogue on Health has the general merit 
of ParneH's poetry ; musical versification and po- 
etical language : yet we occasionally meet with that 
which I suppose, it took Pope so much labour to 
improve, flat and prosaic expressions. 

The Elegy to an u Old Beauty," has much of 
that sprightliness and graceful ease which Pope 
possessed, and which gave a lustre and worth to 
trifles. There is, however, a couplet in it, that 
seems to me to be defective, and wanting in con- 



with a strong and pleasing conviction, not only of Pope's 
immeasurable superiority over the French poet, in poetical 
conception of his subject, in brilliant fancy, variety of cha- 
racter, elegance of allusion ; but also in good sense, and 
truth, and adherence to nature ; Boileaus ground-plot is 
mean, his sentiments strained, and his picture overcharged ; 
he is struggling for an effect that his subject does not ad- 
mit, nor his poetical powers enable him to supply. 



58 LIFE OF PARNELL. 

struction, but I do not know how to rectify it, while 
the metre and rhyme are preserved, 

" But beauty gone, 'tis easier to be wise, 
As harpers better, by the loss of eyes." 

though it might be restored to its meaning, under 
the following alteration, 

" As harpers better play, by loss of eyes." 

The " Book Worm' , is a translation from Beza, 
with modern applications. 

In " The Imitation of some French verses, ,, I am 
rather surprised that Pope's accuracy of ear, and 
correct taste, should permit such an imperfect 
rhyme to pass, as, " bliss and wish/' especially in 
those light pieces whose perfect finishing forms 
half their merit. 

The " Night Piece on Death" Goldsmith much 
admires ; and endeavours, yet apparently against 
his real conviction, to prefer to Gray's immortal 
Elegy. His praise is pared away by his caution, 
for he is 

" Willing to wound, and yet afraid to strike ;" 

and " he supposes that, with very little amendment, 
it might be made to surpass all those night pieces 
and churchyard scenes that have since appeared." 
Johnson's 1 love of truth, not his partiality for Gray, 

1 In the eighth chapter of the Vicar of Wakefield, Gold- 
smith considers Gay as having corrupted the purity of Eng- 
lish poetry, and introducing a false taste by loading his lines 
with epithets. English poetry, he says, like that in the 



LIFE OF PARNELL. 59 

forced him into the confession, that Gray's poem 
has the advantage in dignity, variety, and origina- 
lity of sentiments. 1 In another of his books, Gold- 
smith mentions this poem of Parnell with similar 
praise, but considers the versification unsuitable to 
the subject. 2 There is, in truth, nothing which could 
entitle it to be raised into comparison with Gray's 
Elegy ; but if Goldsmith had pointed out the infe- 
riority of the third stanza in Gray's poem to the 
rest, and if he had even recommended its omission, 
I should have considered his criticism as formed 

latter empire of Rome, is nothing at present but a combina- 
tion of luxuriant images, without plot or connexion; a 
string of epithets that improve the sound, without carrying 
on the sense. As a model of simplicity, he then proposes 
his Hermit, Would Gray or Gay have written the fol- 
lowing stanza 1 

« Far in a wilderness obscure, 

The lonely mansion lay, 
A refuge to the neighbouring poor, 
And strangers led astray." 
Are there no epithets worse than useless here ? 

1 There seems to be an oversight in not correcting the 
repetition of the word * glad' in the concluding lines : 
" See the glad scene unfolding wide, 
Clap the glad wing and tower away, 
And mingle with the blaze of day." 
? The great fault of the Night Piece on Death is, that it 
is in eight syllable lines, very improper for the solemnity of 
the subject. Otherwise the poem is natural, and the reflec- 
tions just. In his Fairy Tale never was the old manner of 
speaking more happily applied, or a tale better told than 
this. Goldsmith on English Poetry, p. 418. 



60 LIFE OF PARNELL. 

upon juster grounds, and at least worthy of res- 
pectful attention. 

The hint for the Hymn to Contentment, John- 
son suspects to be borrowed from Cleveland. 1 The 
Poem to which he alludes is that beginning*, 

" Fair stranger ! winged maid ! where dost thou rest 

Thy snowy locks at noon ! or on what breast 

Of spices slumber o'er the sullen night, 

Or waking whither dost thou take thy flight f 

it is impossible to say how ready Parneirs habits 
of poetical association may have been to receive new 
impressions, or how quickly they may have kindled 
at the smallest spark, furnished by another's genius ; 
but I can perceive here no marks of imitation. 2 
Cleveland's poem is not without its occasional beau- 
ties, but, as is common with that writer, they are 
strangely mixed up with unnatural conceits, harsh 
phrases, and low unpoetical allusions. 

The poem by which Parnell is best known, and 
which indeed is one of the most popular in our lan- 
guage, is the Hermit. Pope speaking of it, says, 
" The poem is very good. The story was written 
originally in Spanish, whence probably Howell 
had translated it into prose, and inserted it in one 
of his letters." Goldsmith adds, that Henry More 
has the very same story, and that he has been in- 
formed by some, that it is of Arabian invention ; I 

1 See Drake's Essays on the Spectator, vol. iii. p. 191. 

2 This poem of Parnell's, with his three songs, were in- 
serted by Steele into his Poetical Miscellanies for Tonson, 
1614. 



LIFE OF PARNELL. 61 

have added, in a note, 1 the works of different 
authors, where, in my own very contracted line 
of reading", I have accidentally met with this fiction, 
and which shows it to have been more generally 
known, than Goldsmith or probably Parnell were 
aware. 2 Johnson thinks that there is more ela- 
boration in the Hermit than in the other poems 
of Parnell, which renders it less airy and pleasing. 

1 1. Herolt Sermones de Tempore et Sanctis, fol. Nu- 
remb. 1496 (Serm. liii). 2. Gesta Romano-rum, c. lxxx. 

3. Sir Percy Herbert's Conceptions to his Son, 4to. 1652. 

4. H. More's Divine Dialogues, p. 256, ed. 1743. 5. 
Howell's Letters, iv. 4. 6. Lutherana (Eng. Trans.) vol. ii. 
p. 127. 7. Voltaire's Zadig. vol. i. chap. xx. p. 125 ; and 
see Beloe's Anecdotes, vol. vi. p. 324 ; and Warton's 
Eng. Poetry, vol, i. p. cciv. cclxvi. ; vol. iii. p. 41. See also 
Br. Mus. MS. Harl. 463. fol. 8. Epitres de Madam An- 
toinette Bourignon, Part : sec : Ep. xvii. 

Antonia who the Hermit's story f'ram'd, 

A tale to prose-men known, by verse-men fam'd. 

W. Harte's Courtier and Prince. 

2 In the first couplet of this poem, the word * grew/ for 
* liv'd,' is exceptionable, and there is an ambiguity of ex- 
pression, in the lines 

" To find if books, or swains, report it right, 
(For yet by swains alone the world he knew, 
Whose feet came wandering o'er the nightly dew) ;" 
which might without much difficulty have been removed. 
The word ' alone' has no reference to books in the pre- 
ceding line, but to ' swains,' as distinguished from all other 
persons ; when I wrote the above, I was not aware of the 
difficulty having been noticed in Boswell's Johnson ; see 
vol. iii. p. 418. At p. 126 of Pope's ed. of Parnell (The 
Flies, an Eclogue) " your fenny shade forsakes the vale," is 
a misprint for " ferny." 



6? LIFE OF PARNELL, 

I hardly know whether this can be discovered, or 
if it is, whether it does not arise from the graver 
and more important subject of the narrative. * 

" The compass of Parnell's poetry (says a critic 
of genius and taste) is not extensive, but its tone 
is peculiarly delightful ; not from mere correctness 
of expression, to which some critics have stinted 
its praises, but from the graceful and reserved sensi- 
bility that accompanied his polished phraseology, 
fhe curiosa felicitas, the studied happiness of his 
diction does not spoil its simplicity. His poetry is 
like a flower that has been trained and planted by 
the skill of the gardener, but which preserves in 
its cultured state the natural fragrance of its wilder 
air."* 

In the observations which have been made on 
the poetry of Parnell, I have confined myself to 
those productions which were first published by 
Pope, and subsequently reprinted by Goldsmith ; 3 

1 " This poem (the Hermit) is held in just esteem ; the 
versification being chaste and tolerably harmonious, and the 
story told with perspicuity and conciseness." Goldsmith's 
Beauties of Eng. Poetry, vol. i. p. 29. 

2 See Campbell's Specimens of British Poetry, vol. iv, 
p. 409. 

3 Goldsmith added two poems to those in Pope's volume, 
viz. * Piety or the Vision/ and * Bacchus.' He says that 
they were first communicated to the public by the late in- 
genious Mr. James Arbuckle, and published in his Hiber- 
nicus's Letters, No. 62 ; but they were printed in the Post- 
humous Works of Parnell, 1758, p. 213. 277. Mr. Ni- 



LIFE OF PARNELL. 63 

but in the year 1788, a large addition was made to 
our poet's works, in a volume called, " The Posthu- 
mous Works of Dr. T. Parnell, containing Poems 
Moral and Divine, and on various other subjects." 
They are described by the editor, as having been 
given by the author to the late Benjamin Everard, 
and since his death, found by his son among other 
manuscripts. The receipt annexed in Swift's hand- 
writing, shows that they are certainly genuine. 

Dec. 5, 1723. 
I have received from Benjamin Everard, Esq. 
the above writings of the late Doctor Parnell, in 
four stitched volumes of manuscript, which I pro- 
mise to restore to him on demand. 

Jonathan Swift. 

Although these volumes were communicated to 
him by Swift, Pope 1 with admirable taste and judg- 
ment contented himself with revising and po- 

cholls collected some additional poems, which now appear 
among his works, v. Anderson's and Chalmer's Poets, 
&c. ; and Goldsmith mentions some unpublished pieces 
which he saw, besides others which had appeared. Life, 
p. xv. 

1 Parnell has written several poems besides those pub- 
lished by Pope, and some of them have been made public 
with very little credit to his reputation. There are still 
many more that have not yet seen the light, in the posses- 
sion of Sir John Parnell his nephew, who from that laud- 
able zeal which he has for his uncle's reputation, will pro- 
bably be slow in publishing what he may even suspect will 
do it injury. Life of Parnell, p. xxix. See also Nicholl's 
Select Poems, vol. iii. p. 208—236. 



64 LIFE OF PARNELL. 

lishing the few pieces which Parnell had se- 
lected, for publication. Spence says, 1 " In the 
list of papers ordered to be burnt, were the pieces 
for carrying on the Memoirs of Scriblerus, and 
several copies of verses by Dean Parnell. I 
interceded in vain for both. As to the latter, he 
said, that they would not add any thing to the 
Dean's character." These might have been du- 
plicates, or perhaps transcripts made by Pope from 
the manuscripts mentioned above. Johnson says, 
" of the large appendages which I find in the last 
edition, I can only say, that I know not whence 
they came, nor have ever inquired whither they are 
going. They stood upon the faith of the compilers. ,, 
Of their authenticity, after what I have observed, 
no reasonable doubt can be entertained ; but of the 
prudence of publishing what Pope, and indeed pre- 
viously Parnell himself, had rejected from their 
acknowledged inferiority, an estimate can easily 
be formed ; when we consider that probably no one 
has ever heard a passage or line quoted from the 
volume ; or has deposited a single image or senti- 
ment from it in his memoiy; while the former 
poems of Parnell are familiar to old and young, the 
delight of the general reader, and approved by the 
most refined judges of poetical merit. Few men 
have the power of arriving at excellence, but by 
assiduous toil, and after repeated failures. He 
who lias attained the art of writing well, has pre- 
2 Spence's Anecdotes, p. 290. 



LIFE OF PARNELL. 65 

viously Written much that he would not willingly- 
own ; it is no disgrace to Parnell, to allow that 
these poems are the genuine production of his 
muse ; they are not without some harmonious lines, 
and poetical passages ; but there is nothing in them 
that can add a single leaf of laurel to his brow, 
who in his Hesiod, his Hermit, and his Fairy Tale, 
has given us poems that, in their kind, it would 
be very difficult to surpass in excellence. While 
some passages show marks of a mind habituated 
to poetical conceptions, while the ideas are well 
selected, and the expressions proper ; others abound 
in flat prosaic lines, alike devoid of dignity of 
thought, or harmony bf language. Sometimes 
there is considerable harshness in the phrase, and 
obscurity in the meaning, an inability of seizing 
the proper word, and a want of skill in the ma- 
nagement of the metre. The general character of 
these poems is a mediocrity that is never sharpened 
into energy, nor exalted into excellence. They 
show no vigorous application of thought, boast no 
refined variety of metre, and exhibit no skilful 
combination of musical numbers. They are not 
enriched with metaphorical figures, strengthened 
by antient idioms, nor spangled with brilliant and 
curious expressions. Nor do they possess that 
select and simple elegance, that happiness of lan- 
guage, expressing its thought, without weakening 
or encumbering it, which he subsequently attained. 
They are such as a well educated person could write 

F 



66 LIFE OF PARNELL. 

without difficulty; and such as the authority of 
Horace has condemned without appeal. 

It would be invidious any longer to dwell on the 
defects of poems for which the author is not an- 
swerable, as he did not publish them ; r and it would 
be unwise to expect that the mere sweepings of 
the poet's study should be polished and elaborated 

1 P. 3. 

I now perceive, 1 long- to sing thy praise, 
I now perceive, I long to find my lays. 
The following lines are obscure, p. 4. 

For this I call, that ancient Time appear, 
And bring his rolls to serve in method here, 
His rolls which acts, that endless honour claim, 
Have rank'd in order for the voice of fame. 
P. 18. 

The visions seem to range, 

They seem to flourish, and they seem to change. 
P. 25. 

As snow's fair feathers fleet to darken sight. 
P. 28. 

Majestic notion seems decreed to nod. 
P. 59. 

Why moves the chariot of my son so slow, 
Or what affairs retard his coming so 1 
P. 69. 

As painted prospects skip along the green, 
From hills to mountains eminently seen. 
P. 154. 

The foreign agents reach the appointed place, 
The Congress opens, and it will be peace. 
These examples, hastily taken, are sufficient to prove the 
obscurity and the flatness of the lines ; but from some ex- 
pressions, I observe that the author had read Dryden with 
attention, though not with success. A volume of such 
verses would form no addition to ParnelVs fame. 



LIFE OF rARNELL. 67 

with the same care as his avowed and finished pro- 
ductions ; it only remains to speak of the few 
works in prose, which he committed to the press. 
The Memoirs of Scriblerus have been already 
mentioned. His Life of Zoilus was written at the 
request of his friends, and designed as a satire 
upon Dennis and Theobald, the ever unfortunate 
foes of the Scriblerus Club. 

The Life of Homer, notwithstanding the care- 
ful revision by Pope, and the subsequent correction 
of Warburton, 1 is written in a style inelegant, and 
sometimes incorrect. The reflections are not in- 
teresting from their appositeness, or striking from 
their novelty; the learning displayed is such as 
might easily be collected for the subject. Parnell 
has endeavoured to spin out his scanty materials to 
too great a length, and has enlarged with too much 
earnestness on facts doubtful or obscure. As- 
sumptions are made to rest on very slender founda- 
tions, and inferences are drawn that it would be 
difficult to support. That Parnell was a better 
scholar than his brother-poets of his time, no one 
would be inclined to doubt ; but it is equally clear, 

1 It is very unreasonable, after this, to give you a second 
trouble in revising the Essay on Homer, but I look upon you 
as one sworn to suffer no errors in me ; and though the 
common way with a commentator be to erect them into 
beauties, the best office of a critic is to correct an*l amend 
them. There being a new edition coming out of Homer, 
I would willingly render it a little less defective, and the 
bookseller will not allow me time to do so myself. 

Pope's Letter to Warburton, xx. 



68 LIFE OF PARNELL. 

that he did not possess that extensive acquaint- 
ance with ancient literature ; that he had not 
explored its intimate recesses, and that he was 
not master of that critical learning", without which, 
it could not be expected that the work which he 
undertook, would either delight us by the sagacity 
of its conclusions, or instruct us by the arrange- 
ment of its facts. The Homer of Parnell is an 
imaginary being, formed out of all the conjectures 
and contradiction of antiquity. Having composed 
his image of these broken fragments and relics, 
the biographer attempts to invest it with vitality 
and intelligence. Perhaps it would have been 
better to have contented himself with simply ar- 
ranging the different narratives, or scattered anec- 
dotes as they have come down to us. It is not very 
profitable to read an account of the conversations 
that might have taken place between Homer and 
Lycurgus, or to exhaust pages in conjectures on the 
character, manners, and pursuits of a person who 
may never have existed ; or if he did, who pro- 
bably bore but little resemblance to the portraits 
whose features have, from time to time, been put 
together from the conjectures of fanciful theorists, 
or the fragments of obsolete traditions. As it is, 
the plan of his life is defective ; it is not instruc- 
tive enough for a history, or entertaining enough 
for a romance. 1 The style in which it is written 

1 It must be remembered that at the time when Parnell 
wrote, little critical research had been employed on the 



LIFE OF PARNELL. 69 

forms a strong contrast with that of Pope's preface, 
that precedes it. It is singular, that the use of 
6 shall' for ' will/ 1 that occurs repeatedly in it, 
should have been overlooked by Pope. Goldsmith 
says, the language is shamefully incorrect ; though 
Swift, who set a very high value on correctness of 
style, appeared satisfied with it ; for, in a letter to 
Pope, he says, " your notes are perfectly good, 
and so are your preface and Essays." There are a 
few papers by Parnell in the Spectator, called Vi- 
sions, which do not require any particular notice ; 
as a prose writer, there is a stiffness, a want of 
neatness and arrangement, and an inaccuracy in 
his style : his merits as a poet are thus summed up 
by Goldsmith in the following elegant epitaph, 
with which I shall conclude the Memoir. 

This tomb inscrib'd to gentle Parnell's name, 
May speak our gratitude, but not his fame. 
What heart but feels his sweetly moral lay, 
That leads to truth through pleasure's flowery way. 

Homeric Poems, spurious pieces of biography, and inter- 
polated passages passed without suspicion. The solid learn- 
ing, and sagacity of Heyne, Wolff, P. Knight, and par- 
ticularly of that unequalled scholar Hermann, have thrown 
much light on a subject so obscure from its antiquity ; but 
the difficulties of the question are as yet only pointed out, 
and the modern Aristarchus is still to come. 

1 See Swift's Works, ed. Nichols, vol. xiv. p. 5, p. 136. 
" But these things shall lie by till you come to compare 
them, and alter rhyme and grammar, and triplets, and caco- 
phonies of all kinds," &c. yet Swift uses shall for will. 



70 LIFE OF PARNELL. 

Celestial themes confess'd his tuneful aid, 

And Heaven, that lent him genius, was repaid ; 

Needless to him the tribute we bestow, 

The transitory breath of fame below* 

More lasting rapture from his works shall rise, 

While converts thank their Poet in the skies. 



* # * There is a small oval portrait of Parnell, J. Basire 
fee. prefixed to the Dublin edition of his works, 4to. also 
Thomas Parnell, D.D. mez. T. H. Dixon, sc. See Gran- 
ger's Biogr. History of England, vol. i. p. 259. 



APPENDIX I. 

NOTES TO THE DEDICATORY EPISTLE. 

Page xv. Cyrene's shell.] Callimaehus was born at Cy- 
rene. Akenside, in his truly classical hymn to the Naiads, says, 

Hail ! honored nymphs, 

Thrice hail ! for you the Cyrenaic shell 
Behold I touch revering. — 

Page xv. The wondrous bark.] Eratosth. (Asterism. p. 13. 
ed. Ox.) says the Argo was the first ship ever built ; but 
this is inconsistent with the account which the Greek 
poets and historians have related of the still earlier voyages 
of Cadmus and Danaus. v. Bryant's A. Mythol. ii. p. 493. 
The ancient writers, says Dr. Musgrave (v. Disc, on Greek 
Mythology, p. 86.), are not unanimous in representing the 
Argo as the first ship ever built. Diod. Sic. iv. p. 285. says 
it was the first of any considerable size. Plin. N. H. vii. 57. 
says it was the first Long ship. Catullus says, 

Ilia rudem cursu prima imbuit Amphitriten, 

though he mentions the fleet of Theseus, whom he makes 
older than"the Argonauts, consult the note of Is. Vossius in 
his Edit. p. 262. and of Dresemius on Iscanus de Bello 
Troj. lib. i. 52. There is scarcely a single circumstance re- 
lating to the Argonautic expedition in which the ancient 
writers' are agreed. They seem to have read out of a dif- 
ferent Pantheon. With regard to the gifts of voice which 
the vessel had — Fatidicamque ratem — Dr. Musgrave thinks 
it to have been a juggle, and that one of the Argonauts was 
a ventriloquist. EyyaarpifivOog. Certain it is, that it 
did speak, and came of a speaking family ; for it was made 
of the woods of Dodona. Orpheus (Arg. v. 707.) calls it 
XaXog rpoiriQ, a chattering ship ; and Lycophron (v. 1326.) 
\d\rj0pov k'mjoclv ; V. Flacc. (viii. 130.) makes it walk up 
and pay its compliments to Jason on the success of the 
enterprise. Orpheus, in his Argonautic Poem, mentions 
anchors as belonging to the Argo (v. 495.) but these are not 
mentioned by Homer even in the time of the Trojan war. 

Page xv. The Centaur band.] Concerning the distinc- 
tion made between the Centaur and Hippocentaur, see 
the note on Mitford's Greece, vol. i. p. 28. 4to. Palae- 



72 APPENDIX I. 

phatus, cap. A. does not mention this. Chiron, whom the 
poets represent as a Hippo- Centaur, has the form of a man 
in an engraving of him in Gronov. Thes. Gr. Ant. 1. 
y»y.y. y. from an ancient MS. of Dioscorides. Some, from 
a passage in Lucian, thought his feet only were like those of 
a horse. Centaurs were consecrated to Apollo, as may be 
seen in many medals, especially those of Gallienus. Pliny, 
N. H, vii. c. 3, asserts that he saw a centaur preserved in 
honey, brought from Egypt to Rome, for Claudius Caesar. 
Some beautiful engravings of male and female centaurs may 
be seen in the Antiquities of Herculaneum. 

Page xv. Loud conchs.] Though Homer does not men- 
tion the trumpet in the heroic ages, yet other authors 
have supposed the invention of it to have been as early, or 
earlier than the Trojan war. Virgil gives Misenus to ^Eneas 
as a trumpeter, v. JEn. vi. 164. 

quo non praestantior alter 

JEre ciere viros, Martemque accendere cantu. 

Lycophron (v. 991.) calls Minerva, " the Trumpet," as 
she invented it. 

aXyvvovcra \d<ppiav Kopqv 
2a\7riyya. 

Euripides (v. Phcen. v. 1392.) mentions the trumpet as 
used at the siege of Thebes. 

'E7rsi d' acpeiQrj, 7rvprroQ wg f rvprrsviicrJQ 
2a\7rryyo£ r}XV> cy^a (poivov jua%??c. 
Where Prof. Porson says,*' Sed Tyrrhenicam Tubam Heroicis 
temporibus usitatam fingunt Tragici ; and he refers to ^Esch. 
Eum. v. 570, Eurip. Rhes. 991, Soph. Aj. v. 17, to which 
references may be added Eurip. Heracl. v. 880, Troad. 1267. 
The use of conchs, or sea-shells, probably preceded that of 
the metallic trump. In the Iph. Taur. v. 303, Euripides 
gives this instrument to the shepherds : 

KoicXovg re (jyvcrcov, (TvX\sy(oi/ r £y%a>piov£. 

See Theocr. Idyll, /c/3. 75, Virg. Mn. xi. 171, Trumpets, 
however, were not very necessary, when the voices of men were 
so much more powerful than at present. Agamemnon (II. 9. 
220.) standing on the ships of Ulysses, called to Ajax and 
Achilles, whose tents formed the opposite boundary of the 
Grecian camp, and are supposed to have stretched from 
the Rhcetean to the Sigcean promontory, a distance of about 
twelve miles. 



APPENDIX I. 73 

Pagexvi, Heaven-built Troy.] Lycophron says (v. 620.) 
that Diomede had, after his death, a statue erected to him 
in Italy, on a column formed of stones, brought as 
ballast in his ship, which had formed part of the walls 
of Troy. 

Page xvi. Beautiful Helen.] Euripides supposes that 
Helen never was at Troy, and ascribes the substitution of a 
phantom in her room, to Juno. Lycophron attributes it to 
Proteus, but he says that Paris was not deprived of his prize, 
for he enjoyed the love of Helen at Salamis. They both 
agree that the Trojan prince only brought a cloud, a visionary 
resemblance of the beautiful Spartan, to Troy. 

Aid(x)(Ti d' ovk kfi* dXX bfxolioaag 'Efioi 

"EiSioXov sjjnrvovv 'Ovpavov %vvOelg viro. v. Helen, 33. 

The anonymous author of the } A7ro(Tfji: 'Eirovg 7repi 
EXevr,g y also mentions this opinion, which the Scholiast 
thinks, refers to what Lycophron had said, v. ed. Morell. 
Paris, 1595, 12mo. 

'Ov 8' EXsvrjv (paGKovffi jiera Tpwecrci iraphvai. 

And Lycophron, says the Scholiast, took his opinion from 
Stesichorus, who wrote , 

TpwfCflr' oi tot laav 'EXsvrjg ziSojXov exovTeg. 

Const. Manasses (ed. Meurs. p. 390.) makes Proteus, when 
Paris landed in Egypt, take Helen away from him ; and he 
returned to Troy empty-handed, or as the text has it, having 
touched Helen only with the tip of his finger. 

'O Ss Kevaig v7rsGTpe(j)e x^P* 71 ^pbg ti)v 7raTpida 
Tfjg rjdovrjg yevadfjievog aKpijJ dcucTvXqj [lovy : 

So also the Antehom. of Tzetzes, v. 148, p. 23, ed. Jacobs. 
Helen had five other husbands whom Lycophron enumerates. 
Achilles, however, who was one, wedded her in the Elysian 
fields. 

Trjg 7revTaXsKTpov OvaSog irXevpoviag. 

Pausanias (lib. iii. c. 16.) says, that in the temple of 
Hilaira and Phcebe, an egg was suspended from the roof, 
bound with fillets, which was, they say, the egg that Leda 
brought forth. The lamentation of Hermione for the loss of 
her mother Helen, is the only poetical passage in the poem 
of Coluthus, which is little else than a cento of scraps from 
Homer, Q. Smyrnaeus, and Musasus, v. 333, et seq. Gray, 
in the concluding lines of his Agrippina, says, 



74 APPENDIX I. 

• so Helen look'd, 



So her white 7iech reclined, so was she borne 
By the young Trojan to his gilded bark. 

This is expressed with his usual knowledge and precision of 
language. See Const. Manas, ed. Meurs. vii. p. 390. 

Asiprj fiaicpa, KaraXevicog, o9ev efivOoVpyrjOrj, 
KvKvoyevrj ttjv svotttov "JZXsvrjv xP r )f iaTi ^ eLV * 

and Antehom. of Tzetzes, ed. Jacobs. 115. For an ac- 
count of a modern rape of a Grecian virgin from Mycenae, 
conducted in the approved ancient manner, see Wheler's 
Travels in Greece, p. 63- 

Page xvii. Her damask'd.] Malala, in his Chronicle, 
lib. v. p. 114. describes Helen as evcrroXog, handsomely 
drest. Beautiful as she was, Philostratus says, that Hiera, the 
wife of Telephus, king of Mysia, was reckoned handsomer ; To 
cravrov avrrjv (prjffi irXtovEKTtiv TrjgEXevrjg oaovKaKhvrj 
twv Tpoaduv. v. ed. Olearii, p. 691. and the author of Twv 
TpoiKwv, joins in this assertion, p. 679. J. Tzetzes, in his 
Antehom. follows them, v. 285. 

"H yap /cat EXevfjv clttskciivvto koXXei 7r6XXov. 

Arintheus was the greatest male beauty whom history has 
recorded ; he is celebrated even by St. Basil, who supposes 
that God had created him as an inimitable model of the 
human species. The painters and sculptors could not ex- 
press his figure. The historians appeared fabulous when they 
related his exploits, v. Am. Marcell. Hist. xxvi. and the note 
of Valesius. 

Page xvii. Then o'er the deep.] When Mr. Anson, Lord 
Anson's brother, was on his travels in the East, he hired a 
vessel to visit the isle of Tenedos ; his pilot, an old Greek, 
as they were sailing along, said, with some satisfaction — 
There 'twas our fleet lay. — Mr. Anson demanded, What 
fleet? What fleet? replied the old man, a little piqued 
with the question, why our Grecian fleet to be sure, at the 
siege of Troy. See Harris's Philol. Enq. p. 320. 

Page xvii. Breathing revenge.] After the death of 
Hector, says Constantine Manasses, p. 397, ed. Meursii, 
Priam sent to the Amazons to assist him, and when they were 
slain, he sent to David, king of Juda : 

Etc tov Aafiid rbv avaicra, rr)g 'lovdaiag Tre/iTm 
IlaXdfjLrjv k^aiTovfJLtvog avfifiax^nv ticeWev' 

but David had battles of his own to fight. So Priam sent to 



APPENDIX I. 75 

Tantares, or Pantares, king of the East Indies, who sent his 
General Memnon, and some wild beasts to help him. An 
anecdote is told of Priam, by Lydgate, which perhaps is not 
mentioned in older histories. See Life and Death of Hector, 
c. vii. p. 104. 

No favor, nor no love made him decline, 
Nor leave unto the greatest, or the least, 
His manner wdisfull soon in morn to dine, 
And of all kings he was the worthiest. 

Mr. Bryant in his Observ. on the Brit. Critic, p. 86, com- 
pares the extent of Priam's empire to Glamorganshire, See 
also Wood on Homer, p. 268, and Blackwell's Life of 
Homer, p. 286. 

Page xvi. The battle bled.] Pausanias (lib. x. c. 25, 
&c.) gives a minute analysis of a very interesting picture 
by Polygnotus, representing the destruction of Troy, and the 
Greeks just preparing to sail to their native land. He ob- 
serves that it differs considerably from the account of Homer. 
Among the figures, Hector is seen with both hands on his 
left knee, looking like a man weighed down with sorrow. 
Next to him, Memnon is sitting on a stone; and close to 
him, Sarpedon, leaning with his face on both his hands, but 
one of Memnon's hands is placed on the shoulder of Sar- 
pedon. Penthesilea, with a bow in her hand, and a leopard's 
skin on her shoulder, is looking on Paris, and by her coun- 
tenance seems to despise him. Menelaus is represented on 
board his ship preparing to depart from Troy ; in the ship, 
boys and men are seen standing together ; and the pilot 
Phrontes is distributing the oars. Nestor is painted with a 
hat on his head, and a spear in his hand ; a horse rolling 
on the sand is seen near him. Palamedes and Thersites are 
represented playing at dice ; the Oilean Ajax is looking at 
the play ; his colour is that of a seafaring man, and his body 
is wet with the foam of the sea. In the second Excurs. 
to the Mn. iii. p. 426. Heyne has a Dissertation on the 
year or month in which Troy was taken. See also Dodwell 
de Cyclis, p. 803. 4to. 

Page xx. Gentle companions.] Bees were called by 
the Greeks, to izoi\iviov aTcoifxavTOV, the flock without a 
shepherd. Pausan. Ant. lib. i. c. xxxii. says, that the 
Halyonian bees were so gentle that they would go out 
foraging along with the men in the fields. 

Page xxvi. Brutus' colours.] In the beginning of the 
last century the learned Camden was obliged to undermine 



76 APPENDIX I. 

with respectful scepticism the Romance of Brutus, the Trojan ; 
who is now buried in silent oblivion with Scota, the daughter 
of Pharaoh, and her numerous progeny, v. Gibbon's Rom. 
Hist. ii. p. 526. In Henry VIIl.'s famous Manifesto against 
James IV. he insisted at great length on the superiority of 
the kings of England over the kingdom of Scotland, which 
he derived from his illustrious predecessor, Brute, the Trojan, 
v. Henry's Hist, of Eng. xi. p. 526. As Henry claimed kin- 
dred, he should have added his ancestor's name to his own. 
Henry the Brute would have well preserved the recollection 
of the illustrious lineage. 

Poem, p. xxviii, Tables.] Sir William Forrest, chaplain 
to Queen Catherine, speaking of her when young, says, 

With stoole and needle she was not to seeke, 
And other practyseinges for ladyes meete 
To pastyme, at Tables, tick-tack, or gleeke, 
Cardys, dice — 
See Andrews' Hist, of Gt. Brit. i. 419. 



APPENDIX IT. 

ADDITIONAL NOTES TO THE LIFE OF PARNELL. 

Life, p. 5, Mistress.] Elizabeth bestowed the primacy upon 
Dr. Mathew Parker, though she liked not his marriage, as 
she contrived once humorously to tell his consort. The queen 
had been hospitably entertained at his house ; she had 
thanked him — " and now," she said, turning to the lady, 
" what shall I say to you 1 Madam I may not call you, 
and Mistress I am ashamed to call you, so I know not what 
to call you, but yet I do thank you." 

' It must be observed, that though Mrs. Saunderson was 
very young when married to Betterton, she retained the 
appellation of Mistress. Mademoiselle or Miss, though 
introduced among people of fashion in England, about 
the latter end of Charles the Second's reign, was not 
familiar to the middle class of people till a much later time, 
nor in use among the players till toward the latter end of 
King William's reign. Miss Cross was the first of the stage 
Misses. She is particularly noticed in Joe Haines's Epilogue 



APPENDIX II. 77 

to Farquhar's Love and a Bottle. — Miss was formerly under- 
stood to mean a woman of pleasure. So Dryden in his 
Epilogue to the Pilgrim, written in 1700 : 

' Misses there were, but modestly concealed.' 

Davies's Dram. Misc. iii. p. 412. 

Life, p. 54, Anacreontic] 

' Gay Bacchus liking Estcourt's wine,' &c. 
Dick Estcourt, the celebrated Comedian, about a year before 
his death, opened the Bumper Tavern in Covent-Garden. 
He was the companion of Addison, Steele, Parnell, and all 
the learned and choice spirits of the age, and was celebrated 
for ready wit, gay pleasantry, and a wonderful talent in 
mimickry. He acted FalstarF, Bayes, Serjeant Kite, in the 
Recruiting Officer, Pounce in the Tender Husband, the 
Spanish Friar. Downes called him ' Histrio natus.' Sir R. 
Steele has drawn an amiable picture of him in the Spectator, 
vol. vi. No. 468. Estcourt was a favourite of the great Duke 
of Marlborough, and providore of the Beef-steak Club. Se- 
cretary C.raggs went with Estcourt to Sir G. Kneller, and 
told him that a gentleman in company would give such a re- 
presentation of some great men his friends, as would sur- 
prise him. Estcourt mimicked Lord Somers, Lord Halifax, 
Godolphin and others, so very exactly, that Sir Godfrey was 
highly delighted, and laughed heartily at the joke. Craggs 
gave the wink, and Estcourt mimicked Kneller himself, who 
cried out immediately. — Nay ! there you are out, man ! by 
God, that is not me ! 

Life, p. 60, Hymn to Contentment.] My learned and 
excellent friend, Mr. Barker of Thetford, has kindly pointed 
out to me the following passage relating to Parnell's Hymn 
to Contentment : 

"On the pursuit, and attainment of this heavenly tran- 
quillity, the classical and pious reader will perhaps not be 
displeased to meet a beautiful Ode from the " Divina Psal- 
modia of Cardinal Bona," on which Parnell manifestly 
formed his exquisite Hymn to Contentment. The insertion 
will be more readily pardoned, as this imitation has escaped 
the notice of Dr. Johnson, and it is believed of all other 
critics and commentators. 5 ' 

" O Sincera parens beatitatis, 
Cceli delicium, Deique proles, 
Pax, terras columen, decusque morum, 
Pax cunctis potior ducum triumphis, 
Quos mundi colis abditos recessus 1 



78 



APPENDIX IT. 



Hie te sollicito reojiirit aestro 
Urbanos fugiens procul tumultus. 
Hie inter scopulos, vagosque fluctus 
Spumantis pelagi latere credit. 
Hie deserta petit loca, et per antra 
Te quaerens, varias peragrat eras; 
Qua lucens oritur, caditque Titan. 
Hie, ut te celer adsequatur, aurum 
Congestum colit, atque dignitatum 
Regalem sibi praeparat decorem. 
Hie demens juga scandit, et remotos 
Perscrutatur agros ; tamen supernae 
Hi pacis nequeant bonis potiri. 
Cur sic ergo tuum, benigna, numen 
Celans, implacidum relinquis orbem 1 
Pacem sic ego sciscitabar. Ilia 
Respondet.— Proprio imperare cordi 
Si nosti, tibi cognitumque numen 
Possessumque meum est ; sinu receptam 
Sic me perpetuo coles amore." 

See Sermons on subjects chiefly practical, by J. Jebb, 
D. D. F. R. S. Bishop of Limerick, Ardfert, and Aghadoe, 
third ed. London, 1824, p. 94. 

Ded. Ep. The orig. MS. after line 14, p. xix. ran thus : 

Soft thoughts by day, and many a pensive dream 
Beguiling night are mine ; by wood, and stream 
Lone wanderings, and when shadowy eve recalls 
My vagrant footsteps to the household walls, 
Trimm'd is the lamp anew, — and one day more 
Of study, and of solitude is o'er. 



ERRATUM. 
Dedicatory Epistle, p. xiv» line 3, for " they " read " there." 



THE POEMS OF PARNELL. 



TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE ROBERT, EARL 
OF OXFORD, AND EARL MORTIMER. 



Such were the notes, thy once-lov'd poet sung, 
Till death untimely stopp'd his tuneful tongue. 
O just beheld, and lost ! admir'd, and mourn'd ! 
With softest manners, gentlest arts, adorn'd ! 
Blest in each science, blest in every strain ! 
Dear to the Muse, to Harley dear — in vain ! 

For him, thou oft hast bid the world attend, 
Fond to forget the statesman in the friend ; 
For Swift and him, despis'd the farce of state, 
The sober follies of the wise and great ; 
Dexterous, the craving, fawning crowd to quit, 
And pleas'd to 'scape from flattery to wit. 

Absent or dead, still let a friend be dear, 
(A sigh the absent claims, the dead a tear) 
Recall those nights that clos'd thy toilsome days, 
Still hear thy Parnell in his living lays : 
Who careless, now, of interest, fame, or fate, 
Perhaps forgets that Oxford e'er was great ; 
Or deeming meanest what we greatest call, 
Beholds thee glorious only in thy fall. 



DEDICATION. 

And sure if ought below the seats divine 
Can touch immortals, 'tis a soul like thine : 
A soul supreme, in each hard instance tried, 
Above all pain, all anger, and all pride, 
The rage of power, the blast of public breath, 
The lust of lucre, and the dread of death. 

In vain to deserts thy retreat is made ; 
The Muse attends thee to the silent shade : 
Tis hers, the brave man's latest steps to trace, 
Re -judge his acts, and dignify disgrace. 
When Interest calls off all her sneaking train, 
When all the oblig'd desert, and all the vain ; 
She waits, or to the scaffold, or the cell, 
When the last lingering friend has bid farewell. 
Ev'n now she shades thy evening walk with bays, 
(No hireling she, no prostitute to praise) 
Ev'n now, observant of the parting ray, 
Eyes the calm sun-set of thy various day, 
Through fortune's cloud one truly great can see, 
Nor fears to tell, that Mortimer is he. 

A. Pope. 

Sept. 25, 1721. 



HESIOD; OR, THE RISE OF WOMAN. 



HESIOD: OR, THE RISE OF WOMAN. 



What ancient times, those times we fancy wise, 
Have left on long record of woman's rise, 
What morals teach it, and what fables hide, 
What author wrote it, how that author died, 
All these I sing. In Greece they fram'd the tale ; 
In Greece, 'twas thought a woman might be frail, 
Ye modern beauties ! where the poet drew 
His softest pencil, think he dreamt of you ; 
And warn'd by him, ye wanton pens, beware 
How heaven's concern'd to vindicate the fair. 
The case was Hesiod's ; he the fable writ ; 
Some think with meaning, some with idle wit : 
Perhaps 'tis either, as the ladies please ; 
I wave the contest, and commence the lays. 

In days of yore, no matter where or when, 
'Twas ere the low creation swarm'd with men, 
That one Prometheus, sprung of heavenly birth, 
Our author's song can witness, liv'd on earth. 
He carv'd the turf to mould a manly frame, 
And stole from Jove his animating flame. 
The sly contrivance o'er Olympus ran, 
When thus the monarch of the stars began. 



6 THE POEMS 

O vers'd in arts ! whose daring thoughts aspire 
To kindle clay with never-dying fire ! 
Enjoy thy glory past, that gift was thine ; 
The next thy creature meets, be fairly mine : 
And such a gift, a vengeance so design'd, 
As suits the counsel of a God to find ; 
A pleasing bosom-cheat, a specious ill, 
Which felt they curse, yet covet still to feel. 

He said, and. Vulcan straight the sire commands, 

To temper mortar with ethereal hands ; 

In such a shape to mould a rising fair, 

As virgin-goddesses are proud to wear ; 

To make her eyes with diamond-water shine, 

And form her organs for a voice divine. 

Twas thus the sire ordain'd ; the power obeyed ; 

And work'd, and wonder'd at the work he made ; 

The fairest, softest, sweetest frame beneath, 

Now made to seem, now more than seem, to breathe. 

As Vulcan ends, the cheerful queen of charms 
Clasp'd the new-panting creature in her arms ; 
From that embrace a fine complexion spread, 
Where mingled whiteness glow'd with softer red. 
Then in a kiss she breath'd her various arts, 
Of trifling prettily with wounded hearts ; 
A mind for love, but still a changing mind ; 
The lisp affected, and the glance design'd ; 
The sweet confusing blush, the secret wink, 



OF PARNELL. 7 

The gentle-swimming walk, the courteous sink, 

The stare for strangeness fit, for scorn the frown, 

For decent yielding looks declining down, 

The practis'd languish, where well-feign'd desire 

Would own its melting in a mutual fire ; 

Gay smiles to comfort ; April showers to move ; 

And all the nature, all the art, of love. 

Gold-sceptred Juno next exalts the fair ; 
Her touch endows her with imperious air, 
Self- valuing fancy, highly-crested pride, 
Strong sovereign will, and some desire to chide : 
For which, an eloquence, that aims to vex, 
With native tropes of anger, arms the sex. 

Minerva, skilful goddess, train'd the maid 
To twirl the spindle by the twisting thread, 
To fix the loom, instruct the reeds to part, 
Cross the long weft, and close the web with art, 
A useful gift ; but what profuse expense, 
What world of fashions, took its rise from hence ! 

Young Hermes next, a close- contriving god, 
Her brows encircled with his serpent rod : 
Then plots and fair excuses fill'd her brain, 
The views of breaking amorous vows for gain, 
The price of favours, the designing arts 
That aim at riches in contempt of hearts ; 
And for a comfort in a marriage life, 
The little, pilfering temper of a wife. 



O THE POEMS 

Full on the fair his beams Apollo flung-, 
And fond persuasion tipp'd her easy tongue ; 
He gave her words, where oily flattery lays 
The pleasing colours of the art of praise ; 
And wit, to scandal exquisitely prone. 
Which frets another's spleen to cure its own. 

Those sacred Virgins whom the bards revere, 
Tun'd all her voice, and shed a sweetness there, 
To make her sense with double charms abound, 
Or make her lively nonsense please by sound. 

To dress the maid, the decent Graces brought 
A robe in all the dyes of beauty wrought, 
And plac'd their boxes o'er a rich brocade 
Where pictur'd loves on every cover play'd ; 
Then spread those implements that Vulcan's art 
Had fram'd to merit Cytherea's heart ; 
The wire to curl, the close-indented comb 
To call the locks, that lightly wander, home ; 
And chief, the mirror, where the ravish'd maid 
Beholds and loves her own reflected shade. 

Fair Flora lent her stores, the purpled Hours 
Confin'd her tresses with a wreath of flowers ; 
Within the wreath arose a radiant crown ; 
A veil pellucid hung depending down ; 
Back roll'd her azure veil with serpent fold, 
The purfled border deck'd the floor with gold. 



OF PARNELL. 9 

Her robe (which closely by the girdle brac't 
Reveal'd the beauties of a slender waist) 
Flow'd to the feet ; to copy Venus* air, 
When Venus' statues have a robe to wear. 

The new- sprung creature finish'd thus for harms, 
Adjusts her habit, practises her charms, 
With blushes glows, or shines with lively smiles, 
Confirms her will, or recollects her whiles : 
Then conscious of her worth, with easy pace 
Glides by the glass, and turning views her face. 

A finer flax than what they wrought before, 
Through time's deep cave the sister Fates explore, 
Then fix the loom, their fingers nimbly weave, 
And thus their toil prophetic songs deceive. 

Flow from the rock, my flax ! and swiftly flow, 
Pursue thy thread ; the spindle runs below. 
A creature fond and changing, fair and vain, 
The creature woman, rises now to reign. 
New beauty blooms, a beauty form'd to fly ; 
New love begins, a love produc'd to die ; 
New parts distress the troubled scenes of life, 
The fondling mistress, and the ruling wife. 

Men, born to labour, all with pains provide ; 

Women have time, to sacrifice to pride : 

They want the care of man, their want they know, 



10 THE POEMS 

And dress to please with heart-alluring show, 
The show prevailing, for the sway contend, 
And make a servant where they meet a friend. 

Thus in a thousand wax-erected forts 
A loitering race the painful bee supports ; 
From sun to sun, from bank to bank he flies, 
With honey loads his bag, with wax his thighs ; 
Fly where he will, at home the race remain, 
Prune the silk dress, and murmuring eat the gain. 

Yet here and there we grant a gentle bride, 
Whose temper betters by the father's side ; 
Unlike the rest that double human care, 
Fond to relieve, or resolute to share : 
Happy the man whom thus his stars advance ! 
The curse is general, but the blessing chance. 

Thus sung the Sisters, while the gods admire 

Their beauteous creature, made for man in ire ; 

The young Pandora she, whom all contend 

To make too perfect not to gain her end : 

Then bid the winds that fly to breathe the spring, 

Return to bear her on a gentle wing ; 

With wafting airs the winds obsequious blow, 

And land the shining vengeance safe below. 

A golden coffer in her hand she bore, 

(The present treacherous, but the bearer more) 

Twas fraught with pangs ; for Jove ordain'd above, 

That gold should aid, and pangs attend on love. 



OF PARNELL. 1 1 

Her gay descent the man perceiv'd afar, 
Wondering he run to catch the falling star ; 
But so surpris'd, as none but he can tell, 
Who lov'd so quickly, and who lov'd so well. 
O'er all his veins the wandering passion burns, 
He calls her nymph, and every nymph by turns. 
Her form to lovely Venus he prefers, 
Or swears that Venus' must be such as hers. 
She, proud to rule, yet strangely fram'd to teize, 
Neglects his offers while her airs she plays, 
Shoots scornful glances from the bended frown, 
In brisk disorder trips it up and down, 
Then hums a careless tune to lay the storm, 
And sits, and blushes, smiles, and yields, in form. 

" Now take what Jove design'd," she softly cried, 
" This box thy portion, and myself thy bride :" 
Fir'd with the prospect of the double charms, 
He snatch'd the box, and bride, with eager arms. 

Unhappy man ! to whom so bright she shone : 
The fatal gift, her tempting self, unknown ! 
The winds were silent, all the waves asleep, 
And heaven was trac'd upon the flattering deep ; 
But whilst he looks unmindful of a storm, 
And thinks the water wears a stable form, 
What dreadful din around his ears shall rise ! 
What frowns confuse his picture of the skies ! 

At first the creature man was fram'd alone, 



12 THE POEMS 

Lord of himself, and all the world his own. 
For him the Nymphs in green forsook the woods, 
For him the Nymphs in blue forsook the floods ; 
In vain the Satyrs rage, the Tritons rave ; 
They bore him heroes in the secret cave. 
No care destroy 'd, no sick disorder prey'd, 
No bending age his sprightly form decay 'd, 
No wars were known, no females heard to rage, 
And poets tell us, 'twas a golden age. 

When woman came, those ills the box confin'd 
Burst furious out, and poison'd all the wind, 
From point to point, from pole to pole they flew, 
Spread as they went, and in the progress grew : 
The Nymphs regretting left the mortal race, 
And altering nature wore a sickly face ; 
New terms of folly rose, new states of care ; 
New plagues to suffer, and to please, the fair ! 
The days of whining, and of wild intrigues, 
Commenc'd, or finish'd, with the breach of leagues ; 
The mean designs of well-dissembled love ; 
The sordid matches never join'd above ; 
Abroad, the labour, and at home the noise, 
(Man's double sufferings for domestic joys) ; 
The curse of jealousy ; expense, and strife; 
Divorce, the public brand of shameful life ; 
The rival's sword ; the qualm that takes the fair ; 
Disdain for passion, passion in despair — 
These, and a thousand, yet unnam'd, we find ; 
Ah fear the thousand, yet unnam'd, behind ! 



OF PARXELL. 13 

Thus on Parnassus tuneful Hesiod sung* : 
The mountain echoed, and the valley rung • 
The sacred groves a fix'd attention show ; 
The crystal Helicon forbore to flow ; 
The sky grew bright ; and (if his verse be true) 
The Muses came to give the laurel too. 
But what avail'd the verdant prize of wit, 
If love swore vengeance for the tales he writ ? 
Ye fair offended, hear your friend relate 
What heavy judgment prov'd the writer's fate, 
Though when it happen'd, no relation clears, 
'Tis thought in five, or five and twenty years. 

Where, dark and silent, with a twisted shade 

The neighb'ring woods a native arbour made, 

There oft a tender pair for amorous play 

Retiring, toy'd the ravish' d hours away ; 

A Locrian youth, the gentle Troilus he, 

A fair Milesian, kind Evan the she : 

But swelling nature in a fatal hour 

Betray 'd the secrets of the conscious bower ; 

The dire disgrace her brothers count their own, 

And track her steps, to make its author known. 

It chanc'd one evening, ('twas the lover's day) 
Conceal'd in brakes the jealous kindred lay ; 
When Hesiod wandering, mus'd along the plain, 
And fix'd his seat where love had fix'd the scene : 
A strong suspicion straight possess'd their mind, 
(For poets ever were a gentle kind.) 



14 THE POEMS 

But when Evanthe near the passage stood, 
Flung ^back a doubtful look, and shot the wood, 
" Now take/' at once they cry, " thy due reward," 
And urg'd with erring rage, assault the bard. 
His corpse the sea received. The dolphins bore 
('Twas all the gods would do) the corpse to shore. 

Methinks, I view the dead with pitying eyes, 
And see the dreams of ancient wisdom rise ; 
I see the Muses round the body cry, 
But hear a Cupid loudly laughing by ; 
He wheels his arrow with insulting hand, 
And thus inscribes the moral on the sand. 
" Here Hesiod lies : ye future bards, beware 
How far your moral tales incense the fair : 
Unlov'd, unloving, 'twas his fate to bleed ; 
Without his quiver Cupid caus'd the deed : 
He judg'd this turn of malice justly due, 
And Hesiod died for joys he never knew." 



OF PARNELL. 15 



SONG. 

When thy beauty appears, 
In its graces and airs, 
All bright as an angel new dropt from the sky ; 
At distance I gaze, and am aw'd by my fears, 
So strangely you dazzle my eye ! 

But when without art, 
Your kind thoughts you impart, 
When your love runs in blushes through every vein ; 
When it darts from your eyes, when it pants 

in your heart, 
Then I know you're a woman again. 

There's a passion and pride 
In our sex, she replied, 
And thus (might I gratify both) I would do ; 
Still an angel appear to each lover beside, 
But still be a woman to you. 



A SONG. 

Thirsis, a young and amorous swain, 
Saw two, the beauties of the plain, 

Who both his heart subdue : 
Gay CsehVs eyes were dazzling fair, 



16 THE POEMS 

Sabina's easy shape and air 
* With softer magic drew. 



He haunts the stream, he haunts the grove, 
Lives in a fond romance of love, 

And seems for each to die ; 
Till each a little spiteful grown, 
Sabina Caelia's shape ran down, 

And she Sabina's eye. 

Their envy made the shepherd find 
Those eyes, which love could only blind ; 

So set the lover free : 
No more he haunts the grove or stream, 
Or with a true-love knot and name 

Engraves a wounded tree. 

Ah Cselia ! sly Sabina cried, 

Though neither love, we're both denied ; 

Now to support the sex's pride, 

Let either fix the dart. 
Poor girl ! says Caelia, say no more ; 
For should the swain but one adore, 
That spite which broke his chains before, 

Would break the other's heart. 



OF PARNELL. 17 



SONG. 

My days have been so wondrous free, 

The little birds that fly 
With careless ease from tree to tree, 

Were but as bless'd as I. 

Ask gliding waters, if a tear 

Of mine increas'd their stream ? 

Or ask the flying gales, if e'er 
I lent one sigh to them ? 

But now my former days retire, 
And I'm by beauty caught, 

The tender chains of sweet desire 
Are fix'd upon my thought. 

Ye nightingales, ye twisting pines ! 

Ye swains that haunt the grove ! 
Ye gentle echoes, breezy winds ! 

Ye close retreats of love ! 

With all of nature, all of art, 

Assist the dear design ; 
O teach a young, unpractis'd heart, 

To make my Nancy mine ! 

H 



18 THE POEMS 

The very thought of change I hate, 

As much as of despair ; 
Nor ever covet to be great, 

Unless it be for her. 

'Tis true, the passion in my mind 
Is mix'd with soft distress ; 

Yet while the fair I love is kind, 
I cannot wish it less. 



OF PARNELL. 19 



ANACREONTIC. 

When spring came on with fresh delight, 
To cheer the soul, and charm the sight, 
While easy breezes, softer rain, 
And warmer suns salute the plain ; 
*Twas then, in yonder piny grove, 
That Nature went to meet with Love. 

Green was her robe, and green her wreath, 
Where'er she trod, 'twas green beneath ; 
Where'er she turn'd, the pulses beat 
With new recruits of genial heat ; 
And in her train the birds appear, 
To match for all the coming year. 

Rais'd on a bank where daisies grew, 
And violets intermix'd a blue, 
She finds the boy she went to find ; 
A thousand pleasures wait behind, 
Aside, a thousand arrows lie, 
But all unfeather'd wait to fly. 

When they met, the dame and boy, 
Dancing Graces, idle Joy, 
Wanton Smiles, and airy Play, 
Conspir'd to make the scene be gay ; 



20 THE POEMS 

Love pair'd the birds through all the grove. 
And Nature bid them sing to Love, 
Sitting, hopping, fluttering, sing, 
And pay their tribute from the wing, 
To fledge the shafts that idly lie, 
And yet unfeather'd wait to fly. 

Tis thus, when spring renews the blood, 
They meet in every trembling wood, 
And thrice they make the plumes agree, 
And every dart they mount with three, . 
And every dart can boast a kind, 
Which suits each proper turn of mind. 

From the towering eagle's plume 
The generous hearts accept their doom : 
Shot by the peacock's painted eye, 
The vain and airy lovers die : 
For careful dames and frugal men, 
The shafts are speckled by the hen : 
The pies and parrots deck the darts, 
When prattling wins the panting hearts : 
When from the voice the passions spring, 
The warbling finch affords a wing : 
Together, by the sparrow stung, 
Down fall the wanton and the young : 
And fledg'd by geese the weapons fly, 
When others love they know not why. 

All this, as late I chanced to rove, 



OF PARNELL. 21 

I learn'd in yonder waving grove. 

And see, says Love, who called me near, 

How much I deal with Nature here, 

How both support a proper part, 

She gives the feather, I the dart. 

Then cease for souls averse to sigh, 

If Nature cross ye, so do I; 

My weapon there unfeather'd flies, 

And shakes and shuffles through the skies : 

But if the mutual charms I find 

By which she links you, mind to mind, 

They wing my shafts, I poise the darts, 

And strike from both, through both your hearts. 



22 THE POEMS 



ANACREONTIC. 

Gay Bacchus liking- Estcourt's wine, 

A noble meal bespoke us ; 
And for the guests that were to dine, 

Brought Comus, Love, and Jocus. 

The god near Cupid drew his chair, 

Near Comus, Jocus plac'd ; 
For wine makes Love forget its care, 

And Mirth exalts a feast. 

The more to please the sprightly god, 

Each sweet engaging Grace 
Put on some clothes to come abroad, 

And took a waiter's place. 

Then Cupid nam'd at every glass 

A lady of the sky ; 
While Bacchus swore he'd drink the lass, 

And had it bumper-high. 

Fat Comus toss'd his brimmers o'er, 

And always got the most ; 
Jocus took care to fill him more, 

Whene'er he miss'd the toast. 



OF PARNELL. 23 

They call'd, and drank at every touch ; 

He fill'd, and drank again ; 
And if the gods can take too much, 

Tis said, they did so then. 

Gay Bacchus little Cupid stung, 

By reckoning his deceits ; 
And Cupid mock'd his stammering tongue, 

With all his staggering gaits : 

And Jocus droll'd on Comus' ways, 

And tales without a jest ; 
While Comus call'd his witty plays 

But waggeries at best. 

Such talk soon set them all at odds ; 

And, had I Homer's pen, 
I'd sing ye, how they drank like gods, 

And how; they fought like men. 

To part the fray, the Graces fly, 

Who make 'em soon agree ; 
Nay, had the Furies selves been nigh, 

They still were three to three. 

Bacchus appeas'd, rais'd Cupid up, 

And gave him 'back his bow ; 
But kept some darts to stir the cup 

Where sack and sugar flow. 



24 THE POEMS 

Jocus took Comus' rosy crown, 

And gaily wore the prize, 
And thrice in mirth he push'd him down, 

As thrice he strove to rise. 

Then Cupid sought the myrtle grove, 

Where Venus did recline; 
And Venus close embracing Love, 

They join'd to rail at wine. 

And Comus loudly cursing wit, 

Roll'd off to some retreat, 
Where boon companions gravely sit 

In fat unwieldy state. 

Bacchus and Jocus, still behind, 

For one fresh glass prepare ; 
They kiss, and are exceeding kind, 

And vow to be sincere. 

But part in time, whoever hear 

This our instructive song ; 
For though such friendships may be dear. 

They can't continue long. 



OF PARNELL. 25 



A FAIRY TALE, 

IN THE ANCIENT ENGLISH STYLE. 

In Britain's isle and Arthur's days, 
When midnight faeries daunc'd the maze, 

Liv'd Edwin of the green ; 
Edwin, I wis, a gentle youth, 
Endow'd with courage, sense, and truth, 

Though badly shap'd he been. 

His mountain back mote well be said 
To measure heighth against his head, 

And lift itself above : 
Yet spite of all that nature did 
To make his uncouth form forbid, 

This creature dar'd to love. 

He felt the charms of Edith's eyes, 
Nor wanted hope to gain the prize, 

Could ladies look within ; 
But one Sir Topaz dress'd with art, 
And, if a shape could win a heart, 

He had a shape to win. 

Edwin, if right I read my song, 
With slighted passion pac'd along 
All in the moony light : 



26 THE POEMS 

'Twas near an old enchaunted court, 
Where sportive faeries made resort 
To revel out the night. 

His heart was drear, his hope was cross'd, 
Twas late, 'twas farr, the path was lost 

That reach'd the neighbour-town ; 
With weary steps he quits the shades, 
Resolv'd the darkling dome he treads, 

And drops his limbs adown. 

But scant he lays him on the floor, 
When hollow winds remove the door, 

A trembling rocks the ground : 
And, well I ween to count aright, 
At once an hundred tapers light 

On all the walls around. 

Now sounding tongues assail his ear, 
Now sounding feet approachen near, 

And now the sounds encrease ; 
And from the corner where he lay 
He sees a train profusely gay 

Come pranckling o'er the place. 

But, trust me, gentles, never yet 
Was dight a masquing half so neat, 

Or half so rich before ; 
The country lent the sweet perfumes, 
The sea the pearl, the sky the plumes, 

The town its silken store. 



OF PARNELL. 27 

Now whilst he gaz'd, a gallant drest 
In flaunting robes above the rest, 

With awfull accent cried, 
What mortal of a wretched mind, 
Whose sighs infect the balmy wind, 

Has here presumed to hide ? 

At this the swain, whose venturous soul 
No fears of magic art controul, 

Advanc'd in open sight ; 
' Nor have I cause of dreed,' he said, 
4 Who view, by no presumption led, 

Your revels of the night. 

' Twas grief for scorn of faithful love, 
Which made my steps unweeting rove 

Amid the nightly dew/ 
'Tis well, the gallant cries again, 
W^e faeries never injure men 

Who dare to tell us true. 

Exalt thy love-dejected heart, 
Be mine the task, or ere we part, 

To make thee grief resign ; 
Now take the pleasure of thy chaunce ; 
Whilst I with Mab my partner daunce, 

Be little Mable thine. 

He spoke, and all a sudden there 
Light musick floats in wanton air ; 
The monarch leads the queen ; 



28 



THE POEMS 



The rest their faerie partners found, 
An&Mable trimly tript the ground 
With Edwin of the green. 

The dauncing past, the hoard was laid, 
And siker such a feast w r as made 

As heart and lip desire ; 
Withouten hands the dishes fly, 
The glasses with a wash come nigh, 

And with a wish retire. 

But now to please the faerie king, 
Full every deal they laugh and sing, 

And an tick feats devise ; 
Some wind and tumble like an ape, 
And other-some transmute their shape 

In Edwin's wondering eyes. 

Till one at last that Robin hight, 
Renow r n'd for pinching maids by night, 

Has hent him up aloof; 
And full against the beam he flung, 
Where by the back the youth he hung 

To spraul unneath the roof. 

From thence, ' Reverse my charm/ he cries, 
' And let it fairly now suffice 

The gambol has been shown/ 
But Oberon answers with a smile, 
Content thee, Edwin, for a while, 

The vantage is thine own. 



OF PARXELL. 29 

Here ended all the phantome play ; 
They smelt the fresh approach of day, 

And heard a cock to crow ; 
The whirling wind that bore the crowd 
Has clapp'd the door, and whistled loud, 

To warn them all to go. 

Then screaming all at once they fly, 
And all at once the tapers die ; 

Poor Edwin falls to floor ; 
Forlorn his state, and dark the place, 
Was never wight in sike a case 

Through all the land before. 

But soon as Dan Apollo rose, 
Full jolly creature home he goes, 

He feels his back the less ; 
His honest tongue and steady mind 
Han rid him of the lump behind 

Which made him want success. 

With lusty livelyhed he talks, 

He seems a dauncing as he walks ; 

His story soon took wind ; 
And beauteous Edith sees the youth, 
Endow'd with courage, sense and truth, 

Without a bunch behind. 

The story told, Sir Topaz mov'd, 

The youth of Edith erst approv'd, 

To see the revel scene : 



30 THE POEMS 

At close of eve he leaves his home, 

And wends to find the ruin'd dome 

All on the gloomy plain. 

As there he bides, it so befell, 

The wind came rustling down a dell, 

A shaking seiz'd the wall : 
Up spring the tapers as before, 
The faeries bragly foot the floor, 

And musick fills the hall. 

But certes sorely sunk with woe 
Sir Topaz sees the elfin show, 

His spirits in him die : 
When Oberon cries, ' A man is near, 
A mortall passion, cleeped fear, 

Hangs flagging in the sky/ 

With that Sir Topaz, hapless youth ! 
In accents faultering ay for ruth 

Intreats them pity graunt ; 
For als he been a mister wight 
Betray'd by wandering in the night 

To tread the circled haunt. 

6 Ah losell vile ! ' at once they roar, 
' And little skill'd of faerie lore, 

Thy cause to come we know : 
Now has thy kestrell courage fell ; 
And faeries, since a lie you tell, 

Are free to work thee woe/ 



OF PARNELL. 31 

Then Will, who bears the wispy fire 
To trail the swains among the mire, 

The caitive upward flung ; 
There like a tortoise in a shop 
He dangled from the chamber-top, 

Where whilome Edwin hung. 

The revel now proceeds apace, 
Deffly they frisk it o'er the place, 

They sit, they drink, and eat ; 
The time with frolick mirth beguile, 
And poor Sir Topaz hangs the while 

Till all the rout retreat. 

By this the Starrs began to wink, 
They shriek, they fly, the tapers sink, 

And down y drops the knight: 
For never spell by faerie laid 
With strong enchantment bound a glade 

Beyond the length of night. 

Chill, dark, alone, adreed, he lay, 
Till up the welkin rose the day, 

Then deem'd the dole was o'er : 
But wot ye well his harder lot ? 
His seely back the bunch has got 

Which Edwin lost afore. 

This tale a Sybil-nurse ared ; 
She softly strok'd my youngling head, 
And when the tale was done, 



32 THE POEMS 

* Thus some are born, my son/ she cries, 
' With base impediments to rise, 
And some are born with none. 

' But virtue can itself advance 

To what the favourite fools of chance 

By fortune seem'd design'd ; 
Virtue can gain the odds of fate, 
And from itself shake off the weight 

Upon th' unworthy mind.' 



OF PARNELL. 33 



THE VIGIL OF VENUS. 

WRITTEN IN THE TIME OF JULIUS OSSAR, AND BY SOME 
ASCRIBED TO CATULLUS. 

Let those love now, who never lovd before ; 
Let those who always lovd, now love the more. 
The spring, the new, the warbling spring appears, 
The youthful season of reviving years ; 
In spring the loves enkindle mutual heats, 
The feather 'd nation choose their tuneful mates, 
The trees grow fruitful with descending rain 
And drest in differing greens adorn the plain. 
She comes ; to-morrow Beauty's empress roves 
Through walks that winding run within the groves ; 
She twines the shooting myrtle into bowers, 
And ties their meeting tops with wreaths of flowers, 



PERVIGILIUM VENERIS. 

Cras amet, qui numquam amavit ; quique amavit, 

eras amet. 
Ver novum, ver jam canorum : vere natus orbis est, 
Vere concordant amores, vere nubent alites, 
Et nemus comam resolvit de maritis imbribus. 
Cras amorum copulatrix inter umbras arborum 
Implicat gazas virentes de flagello myrteo. 



34 



THE POEMS 



Then rais'd sublimely on her easy throne, 
From Nature's powerful dictates draws her own. 

Let those love now, who never lovd before ; 
Let those who always lovd, now love the more. 

'Twas on that day which saw the teeming flood 
Swell round, impregnate with celestial blood ; 
Wandering in circles stood the finny crew, 
The midst was left a void expanse of blue ; 
There parent Ocean work'd with heaving throes, 
And dropping wet the fair Dione rose. 

Let those love now, who never lovd before ; 
Let those who always lovd, now love the more. 

She paints the purple year with varied show, 
Tips the green gem, and makes the blossom glow ; 



Cras Dione dicit, jura fulta sublimi throno. 

Cras amet, qui numquam amavit ; quique 
amavit, cras amet. 

Tunc liquore de superno, spumeo ponti e globo, 
Caerulas inter catervas, inter et bipedes equos, 
Fecit undantem Dionen de maritis imbribus. 

Cras amet, qui numquam amavit ; quique 
amavit, cras amet. 

Ipsa gemmis purpurantem pingit annum floribus, 
Ipsa surgentes papillas de Favoni spiritu 



OF PARNELL. 35 

She makes the turgid buds receive the breeze, 
Expand to leaves, and shade the naked trees : 
When gathering damps the misty nights diffuse, 
She sprinkles all the morn with balmy dews ; 
Bright trembling pearls depend at every spray, 
And kept from falling, seem to fall away. 
A glossy freshness hence the rose receives, 
And blushes sweet through all her silken leaves ; 
(The drops descending through the silent night, 
While stars serenely roll their golden light,) 
Close till the morn, her humid veil she holds ; 
Then deck'd with virgin pomp the flower unfolds. 
Soon will the morning blush : ye maids ! prepare, 
In rosy garlands bind your flowing hair : 
'Tis Venus' plant : the blood fair Venus shed, 
O'er the gay beauty pour'd immortal red ; 
From Love's soft kiss a sweet ambrosial smell 
Was taught for ever on the leaves to dwell; 



Urguet in toros tepentes, ipsa roris lucidi, 
Noctis aura quern relinquit, spargit humentes aquas, 
Et micant lacrymae trementes decidivo pondere ; 
Gutta praeceps orbe parvo sustinet casus suos ; 
In pudorem florulentae prodiderunt purpurae. 
Humor ille, quern serenis astra rorant noctibus, 
Mane virgines papillas solvit humenti peplo. 
Ipsa jussit mane ut udae virgines nubant rosae, 
Fusae prius de cruore deque Amoris osculis, 
Deque gemmis, deque flammis, deque solis purpuris. 



36 THE POEMS 

From gems, from flames, from orient rays of light, 
The richest lustre makes her purple bright ; 
And she to-morrow weds ; the sporting gale 
Unties her zone, she bursts the verdant veil ; 
Through all her sweets the rifling lover flies, 
And as he breathes, her glowing fires arise. 

Let those love now, who never lovd before ; 
Let those who always lov'd, now love the more. 

Now fair Dione to the myrtle grove 

Sends the gay Nymphs, and sends her tender Love. 

And shall they venture ? Is it safe to go, 

While Nymphs have hearts, and Cupid wears a bow ? 

Yes, safely venture, 'tis his mother's will ; 

He walks unarm'd and undesigning ill, 

His torch extinct, his quiver useless hung, 

His arrows idle, and his bow unstrung. 



Cras ruborem qui latebat veste tectus ignea, 
Unico marita nodo non pudebit solvere. 

Cras amet, qui numquam amavit ; quique 
amavit, cras amet. 

Ipsa nimfas diva luco jussit ire myrteo : 
Et puer comes puellis. Nee tamen credi potest 
Esse Amorem feriatum, si sagittas vexerit. 
Ite Nimfae : posuit arma, feriatus est amor : 
Jussus est inermis ire, nudus ire jussus est : 
Neu quid arcu, neu sagitta, neu quid igne laederet. 



OF PARNELL. 37 

And yet, ye Nymphs, beware, his eyes have charms, 
And Love that's naked, still is Love in arms. 

Let those love now, who never lovd before ; 
Let those who always lovd, now love the more. 

From Venus' bower to Delia's lodge repairs 
A virgin train complete with modest airs : 
4i Chaste Delia, grant our suit ! or shun the wood, 
Nor stain this sacred lawn with savage blood. 
Venus, O Delia ! if she could persuade, 
Would ask thy presence, might she ask a maid." 
Here cheerful quires for three auspicious nights 
With songs prolong the pleasurable rites : 
Here crowds in measures lightly-decent rove, 
Or seek by pairs the covert of the grove, 
Where meeting greens for arbours arch above, 
And mingling flowerets strew the scenes of love* 



Sed tamen nimfae cavete, quod Cupido pulcher est : 
Totus est inermis idem, quando nudus est Amor. 
Cras amet, qui numquam amavit ; quique 
amavit, cras amet. 

Compari Venus pudore mittit ad te virgines : 
Una res est quam rogamus : cede virgo Delia ; 
Ut nemus sit incruentum de ferinis stragibus. 
Ipsa vellet ut venires, si deceret virginem : 
Jam tribus choros videres feriatos noctibus, 
Congreg.es inter catervas, ire per saltus tuos, 



38 



THE POEMS 



Here dancing Ceres shakes her golden sheaves : 
Here Bacchus revels, deck'd with viny leaves : 
Here wit's enchanting God in laurel crown'd 
Wakes all the ravish'd Hours with silver sound. 
Ye fields, ye forests, own Dione's reign, 
And, Delia, huntress Delia, shun the plain. 

Let those love now, tvho never lovd before; 
Let those who always lovd, now love the more. 

Gay with the bloom of all her opening year, 
The Queen at Hybla bids her throne appear ; 
And there presides ; and there the favourite band, 
Her smiling Graces, share the great command. 
Now, beauteous Hybla, dress thy flowery beds 
With all the pride the lavish season sheds ; 
Now all thy colours, all thy fragrance yield, 
And rival Enna's aromatic field. 



Floreas inter coronas, myrteas inter casas. 
Nee Ceres, nee Bacchus absunt, nee poetarum Deus ; 
Decinent,. et tota nox est pervigila cantibus. 
Regnet in silvis Dione : tu recede Delia. 

Cras amet, qui numquam amavit ; quique 
amavit, cras amet. 

Jussit Hyblasis tribunal stare diva floribus ; 
Praesens ipsa jura dicit, adsederunt Gratiae. 
Hybla totos funde flares, quidquid annus adtulit,. 
Hybla florum rumpe vestem, quantus JEnnae cam- 
pus est 



OF PARNELL. 39 

To fill the presence of the gentle court 

From every quarter rural Nymphs resort, 

From woods, from mountains, from their humble 

vales, 
From waters curling 1 with the wanton gales. 
Pleas'd with the joyful train, the laughing Queen 
In circles seats them round the bank of green ; 
And " lovely girls," she whispers, " guard your 

hearts ; 
My °oy, though stript of arms, abounds in arts." 

Let those love now, who never lovd before ; 
Let those who always lovd, now love the more. 

Let tender grass in shaded alleys spread, 
Let early flowers erect their painted head. 
To-morrow's glory be to-morrow seen, 
That day old Ether wedded Earth in green. 



Ruris hie erunt puellae, vel puellae montium, 
Quaeque silvas, quaeque lucos, quaeque montes in- 

colunt. 
Jussit omnis adsidere pueri mater alitis, 
Jussit et nudo puellas nil Amori credere. 

Cras amet, qui numquam amavit ; quique 
amavit, cras amet. 

Et recentibus virentes ducat umbras floribus : 
Cras erit qui primus aether copulavit nuptias 
Ut pater roris crearet vernis annum nubibus, 



40 THE POEMS 

The Vernal Father bid the spring appear, 
In clouds he coupled to produce the year ; 
The sap descending o'er her bosom ran, . 
And all the various sorts of soul began. 
By wheels unknown to sight, by secret veins 
Distilling life, the fruitful goddess reigns, 
Through all the lovely realms of native day, 
Through all the circled land, the circling sea ; 
With fertile seed she fill'd the pervious earth, 
And ever fix'd the mystic ways of birth. 

Let those love now, who never lovd before ; 
Let those who always lovd, now love the more. 

'Twas she the parent, to the Latian shore 
Through various dangers Troy's remainder bore : 



In sinum maritus imber fluxit almae conjugis, 
Ut foetus immixtus omnis aleret magno corpore. 
Ipsa venas atque mentem permeante spiritu 
Intus occultis gubernat procreatrix viribus, j 
Perque ccelum, perque terras, perque pontum sub- 

ditum, 
Pervium sui tenorem seminali tramite 
Imbuit, jussitque mundum nosse nascendi vias. 
Cras amet, qui numquam amavit ; quique 
amavit, cras amet. 

Ipsa Trojanos nepotes in Latino transtulit ; 
Ipsa Laurentem puellam conjugem nato dedit ; 



OF PARNELL. 41 

She won Lavinia for her warlike son, 
And winning 1 her, the Latian empire won. 
She gave to Mars the maid, whose honoured womb 
Swell'd with the founder of immortal Rome : 
Decoy 'd by shows the Sabine dames she led, 
And taught our vigorous youth the means to wed. 
Hence sprung the Romans, hence the race divine, 
Through which great Caesar draws his Julian line. 

Let those love now, who never lovd before ; 
Let those who always lovd, now love the more. 

In rural seats the soul of Pleasure reigns ; 

The life of Beauty fills the rural scenes ; 

E'en Love, if fame the truth of Love declare, 

Drew first the breathings of a rural air. 

Some pleasing meadow pregnant Beauty prest, 

She laid her infant on its flowery breast ; 

From nature's sweets he sipp'd the fragrant dew, 



Moxque Marti de sacello dat pudicam virginem ; 
Romuleas ipsa fecit cum Sabinis nuptias ; 
Unde Ramnes et Quirites, proque prole posterum 
Romuli matrem crearet et nepotem Caesarem. 
Cras amet, qui numquam amavit ; quique 
amavit, cras amet. 

Rura foecundat voluptas : rura Venerem sentiunt. 
Ipse Amor puer Dionae rure natus dicitur. 
Hunc ager, cum parturiret ipsa, suscepit sinu ; 



42 THE POEMS 

He smil'd, he kiss'd them, and by kissing grew. 
Let those love now, who never lovd before ; 
Let those who always lovd, now love the more. 

Now bulls o'er stalks of broom extend their sides, 
Secure of favours from their lowing brides. 
Now stately rams their fleecy consorts lead, 
Who bleating follow through the wandering shade. 
And now the Goddess bids the birds appear, 
Raise all their music, and salute the year. 
Then deep the swan begins, and deep the song 
Runs o'er the water where he sails along ; 
While Philomela tunes a treble strain, 
And from the poplar charms the listening plain. 
We fancy love express'd at every note, 



Ipsa florum delicatis educavit osculis. 

Cras arnet, qui numquam amavit ; quique 
amavit, cras amet. 

Ecce, jam super genistas explicant tauri latus ! 
Quisque tuus quo tenetur conjugali fcedere. 
Subter umbras cum maritis ecce balantum greges : 
Et canoras non tacere diva jussit alites. 
Jam loquaces ore rauco stagna cygni perstrepunt : 
Adsonat Terei puella subter umbram populi ; 
Ut putas motus amoris ore dici musico, 
Et neges queri sororem de marito barbaro. 



OF PARNELL. 43 

It melts, it warbles, in her liquid throat : 
Of barbarous Tereus she complains no more, 
But sings for pleasure, as for grief before ; 
And still her graces rise, her airs extend, 
And all is silence till the Siren end. 

How long in coming is my lovely spring ? 
And when shall I, and when the swallow sing? 
Sweet Philomela, cease ; or here I sit, 
And silent lose my rapturous hour of wit : 
Tis gone, the fit retires, the flames decay, 
My tuneful Phoebus flies averse away. 
His own Amycle thus, as stories run, 
But once was silent, and that once undone. 

Let those love now, who never lovd before ; 
Let those who always lovd, now love the more. 



Ilia cantat: nos tacemus. Quando ver venit 

meum ? 
Quando faciam ut celidon, ut tacere desinam ? 
Perdidi musam tacendo, nee me Phoebus respicit. 
Sic Amyclas, cum tacerent, perdidit silentium. 
Cras amet, qui numquam amavit ; quique 
amavit, cras amet. 



HOMER'S BATRACHOMUOMACHIA ; 

OR, THE 

BATTLE OF THE FROGS AND MICE. 



NAMES OF THE MICE. 

PsYCARPAX, one who plunders granaries. 

Troxartes, a bread-eater. 

Lychomyle, a ticker of meal. 

Pternotroctas, a bacon-eater. 

Lychopinax, a ticker of dishes. 

Embasichytros, a creeper into pots. 

Lychenor, a name from licking. 

Troglodytes, one who runs into holes. 

Artophagus, who feeds on bread. 

Tyroglyphus, a cheese-scooper. 

Ptevnoglyphus, a bacon-scooper . 

Pternophagus, a bacon-eater. 

Cnissodioctes, one who follows the steam of kitchens. 

Sitophagus, an eater of wheat. 

Meridarpax, one who plunders his share. 

NAMES OF THE FROGS. 

Physignathus, one who swells his cheeks. 
Peleus, a name from mud. 
Hydromeduse, a ruler in the waters. 
Hypsiboas, a loud bawler. 
Pelion, from mud. 
Seutlaeus, called from the beets. 
Polyphonus, a great babbler. 
Lymnocharis, one who loves the lake. 
Crambophagus, a cabbage-eater. 
Lymnisius. called from the lake. 
Calaminthius, from the herb. 
Hydrocharis, who loves the water. 
Borborocates, who lies in the mud. 
Prassophagus, an eater of gar lick. 
Pelusius, from mud. 
Pelobates, who walks in the dirt. 
Prassaeus, called from garlick. 
Craugasides, from croaking* 



HOMER'S BATTLE OF THE FROGS, ETC. 



BOOK I. 

To fill my rising song with sacred fire, 
Ye tuneful Nine, ye sweet celestial quire ! 
From Helicon's embowering height repair, 
Attend my labours, and reward my prayer. 
The dreadful toils of raging Mars I write, 
The springs of contest, and the fields of fight ; 
How threatening mice advanc'd with warlike grace, 
And wag'd dire combats with the croaking race. 
Not louder tumults shook Olympus' towers, 
When earth-born giants dar'd immortal powers. 
These equal acts an equal glory claim, 
And thus the Muse records the tale of fame. 

Once on a time, fatigu'd and out of breath, 
And just escap'd the stretching claws of death, 
A gentle mouse, whom cats pursu'd in vain, 
Fled swift of foot across the neighb'ring plain, 
Hung o'er a brink, his eager thirst to cool, 
And dipt his whiskers in the standing pool ; 
When near a courteous frog advanc'd his head, 
And from the waters, hoarse-resounding, said, 



48 THE POEMS 

What art thou, stranger ? What the line you boast ? 

Whaf chance has cast thee panting on our coast ? 

With strictest truth let all thy words agree, 

Nor let me find a faithless mouse in thee. 

If worthy friendship, proffer'd friendship take, 

And entering view the pleasurable lake : 

Range o'er my palace, in my bounty share, 

And glad return from hospitable fare. 

This silver realm extends beneath my sway, 

And me, their monarch, all its frogs obey. 

Great Physignathus I, from Peleus' race, 

Begot in fair Hydromeduse' embrace, 

Where by the nuptial bank that paints his side, 

The swift Eridanus delights to glide. 

Thee too, thy form, thy strength, and port proclaim 

A sceptred king ; a son of martial fame ; 

Then trace thy line, and aid my guessing eyes. 

Thus ceas'd the frog, and thus the mouse replies. 

Known to the gods, the men, the birds that fly 
Through wild expanses of the midway sky, 
My name resounds ; and if unknown to thee, 
The soul of great Psycarpax lives in me, 
Of brave Troxartes' line, whose sleeky down 
In love compress'd Lychomile the brown. 
My mother she, and princess of the plains 
Where'er her father Pternotroctes reigns : 
Born where a cabin lifts its airy shed, 
With figs, with nuts, with varied dainties fed. 
But since our natures nought in common know 



OF PARNELL. 49 

From what foundation can a friendship grow ? 

These curling 1 waters o'er thy palace roll ; 

But man's high food supports my princely soul. 

In vain the circled loaves attempt to lie 

Conceal'd in flaskets from my curious eye ; 

In vain the tripe that boasts the whitest hue, 

In vain the gilded bacon shuns my view ; 

In vain the cheeses, offspring of the pai], 

Or honey 'd cakes, which gods themselves regale. 

And as in arts I shine, in arms I fight, 

Mix'd with the bravest, and unknown to flight. 

Though large to mine the human form appear, 

Not man himself can smite my soul with fear : 

Sly to the bed with silent steps I go, 

Attempt his finger, or attack his toe, 

And fix indented wounds with dext'rous skill ; 

Sleeping he feels and only seems to feel. 

Yet have we foes which direful dangers cause, 

Grim owls with talons arnfd, and cats with claws, 

And that false trap, the den of silent fate, 

Where death his ambush plants around the bait : 

All dreaded these, and dreadful o'er the rest 

The potent warriors of the tabby vest : 

If to the dark we fly, the dark they trace, 

And rend our heroes of the nibbling race. 

But me, nor stalks, nor watrish herbs delight, 

Nor can the crimson radish charm my sight, 

The lake-resounding frog's selected fare, 

Which not a mouse of any taste can bear. 

K 



50 THE POEMS 

As thus the downy prince his mind expressed, 
His answer thus the croaking king address'd. 

Thy words luxuriant on thy dainties rove, 
And, stranger, we can boast of bounteous Jove : 
We sport in water, or we dance on land, 
And born amphibious, food from both command. 
But trust thyself where wonders ask thy view, 
And safely tempt those seas, I'll bear thee through : 
Ascend my shoulders, firmly keep thy seat, 
And reach my marshy court, and feast in state. 

He said, and bent his back ; with nimble bound 

Leaps the light mouse, and clasps his arms around; 

Then wondering floats, and sees with glad survey 

The winding banks resembling ports at sea. 

But when aloft the curling water rides, 

And wets with azure wave his downy sides, 

His thoughts grow conscious of approaching woe, 

His idle tears with vain repentance flow ; 

His locks he rends, his trembling feet he rears, 

Thick beats his heart with unaccustom'd fears ; 

He sighs, and chill'd with danger, longs for shore : 

His tail extended forms a fruitless oar, 

Half drench'd in liquid death his prayers he spake, . 

And thus bemoan'd him from the dreadful lake. 

So pass'd Europa through the rapid sea, 
Trembling and fainting all the venturous way ; 



OF PARNELL. 51 

With oary feet the bull triumphant row'd, 
And safe in Crete depos'd his lovely load. 
Ah safe at last ! may thus the frog* support 
My trembling limbs to reach his ample court. 

As thus he sorrows, death ambiguous grows, 
Lo ! from the deep a water-hydra rose ; 
He rolls his sanguin'd eyes, his bosom heaves, 
And darts with active rage along the waves. 
Confus'd the monarch sees his hissing foe, 
And dives, to shun the sable fates, below. 
Forgetful frog! The friend thy shoulders bore, 
Unskill'd in swimming, floats remote from shore. 
He grasps with fruitless hands to find relief, 
Supinely falls, and grinds his teeth with grief; 
Plunging he sinks, and struggling mounts again, 
And sinks, and strives, but strives with fate in vain. 
The weighty moisture clogs his hairy vest, 
And thus the prince his dying rage express'd. 

Nor thou, that fling'st me floundering from thy back, 
As from hard rocks rebounds the shattering wrack, 
Nor thou shalt 'scape thy due, perfidious king ! 
Pursu'd by vengeance on the swiftest wing : 
At land thy strength could never equal mine, 
At sea to conquer, and by craft, was thine. 
But heaven has gods, and gods have searching eyes : 
Ye mice, ye mice, my great avengers, rise ! 

This said, he sighing gasp'd, and gasping died. 



M THE POEMS 

His death the young Lychopinax espied, 
As on the flowery brink he pass'd the day, 
Bask'd in the beams, and loiter'd life away. 
Loud shrieks the mouse, his shrieks the shores 

repeat ; 
The nibbling nation learn their hero's fate : 
Grief, dismal grief ensues ; deep murmurs sound, 
And shriller fury fills the deafen'd ground. 
From lodge to lodge the sacred heralds run, 
To fax their council with the rising sun ; 
Where great Troxartes crown'd in glory reigns, 
And winds his lengthening court beneath the plains : 
Psycarpax' father, father now no more ! 
For poor Psycarpax lies remote from shore ; 
Supine he lies ! the silent waters stand , 
And no kind billow wafts the dead to land ! 



OF PARNELL. 53 



HOMER'S BATTLE OF THE FROGS AND MICE. 
BOOK II. 

When rosy-finger'd morn had ting'd the clouds, 
Around their monarch-mouse the nation crowds ; 
Slow rose the sovereign, heav'd his anxious breast, 
And thus, the council fill'd with rage, address'd. 

For lost Psycarpax much my soul endures, 
Tis mine the private grief, the public, yours. 
Three warlike sons adorn'd my nuptial bed, 
Three sons, alas ! before their father dead ! 
Our eldest perish'd by the ravening cat, 
As near my court the prince unheedful sat. 
Our next, an engine fraught with danger drew, 
The portal gap'd, the bait was hung in view, 
Dire arts assist the trap, the fates decoy, 
And men unpitying kill'd my gallant boy. 
The last, his country's hope, his parents* pride, 
Plung'd in the lake by Physignathus, died. 
Rouse all the war, my friends ! avenge the deed, 
And bleed that monarch, and his nation bleed. 

His words in every breast inspir'd alarms, 

And careful Mars supplied their host with arms. 



54 THE POEMS 

In verdant hulls despoil'd of all their beans, 
The buskin'd warriors stalk'd along the plains : 
Quills aptly bound, their bracing corselet made, 
Fac'd with the plunder of a cat they nay'd ; 
The lamp's round boss affords their ample shield ; 
Large shells of nuts their covering helmet yield ; 
And o'er the region with reflected rays, 
Tall groves of needles for their lances blaze. 
Dreadful in arms the marching mice appear ; 
The wondering frogs perceive the tumult near, 
Forsake the waters, thickening form a ring, 
And ask and hearken, whence the noises spring. 
When near the crowd, disclos'd to public view, 
The valiant chief Embasichytros drew : 
The sacred herald's sceptre grac'd his hand, 
And thus his words express'd his king's command. 

Ye frogs ! the mice, with vengeance fir'd, advance. 
And deck'd in armour shake the shining lance : 
Their hapless prince by Physignathus slain, 
Extends incumbent on the watery plain. 
Then arm your host, the doubtful battle try ; 
Lead forth those frogs that have the soul to die. 

The chief retires, the crowd the challenge hear, 
And proudly-swelling yet perplex'd appear : 
Much they resent, yet much their monarch blame, 
Who rising, spoke to clear his tainted fame. 

O friends, I never forc'd the mouse to death,. 



OF PARNELL. 55 

Nor saw the gasping of his latest breath. 
He, vain of youth, our art of swimming tried, 
And venturous, in the lake the wanton died. 
To vengeance now by false appearance led, 
They point their anger at my guiltless head. 
But wage the rising war by deep device, 
And turn its fury on the crafty mice. 
Your king directs the way; my thoughts elate 
With hopes of conquest, form designs of fate. 
Where high the banks their verdant surface heave, 
And the steep sides confine the sleeping wave, 
There, near the margin, clad in armour bright, 
Sustain the first impetuous shocks of fight : 
Then, where the dancing feather joins the crest, 
Let each brave frog his obvious mouse arrest ; 
Each strongly grasping, headlong plunge a foe, 
Till countless circles whirl the lake below ; 
Down sink the mice in yielding waters drown'd ; 
Loud flash the waters ; and the shores resound : 
The frogs triumphant tread the conquer'd plain, 
And raise their glorious trophies of the slain 

He spake no more : his prudent scheme imparts 
Redoubling ardour to the boldest hearts. 
Green was the suit his arming heroes chose, 
Around their legs the greaves of mallows close ; 
Green were the beets about their shoulders laid, 
And green the colewort, which the target made ; 
Form'd of the varied shells the waters yield, 
Their glossy helmets glisten'd o'er the field; 



56 



THE POEMS 



And tapering sea-reeds for the polish'd spear, 
With upright order pierc'd the ambient air. 
Thus dress'd for war, they take th' appointed height, 
Poize the long arms, and urge the promis'd fight. 

But now, where Jove's irradiate spires arise, 
With stars surrounded in ethereal skies, 
(A solemn council call'd) the brazen gates 
Unbar ; the gods assume their golden seats : 
The sire superior leans, and points to show 
What wondrous combats mortals wage below : 
How strong, how large, the numerous heroes stride ; 
What length of lance they shake with warlike pride ; 
What eager fire, their rapid march reveals ; 
So the fierce Centaurs ravag'd o'er the dales ; 
And so confirm'd, the daring Titans rose, 
Heap'd hills on hills, and bid the gods be foes. 

This seen, the power his sacred visage rears, 
He casts a pitying smile on worldly cares, 
And asks what heavenly guardians take the list, 
Or who the mice, or who the frogs assist ? 

Then thus to Pallas. If my daughter's mind 
Have join'd the mice, why stays she still behind? 
Drawn forth by savoury steams they wind their way, 
And sure attendance round thine altar pay, 
Where while the victims gratify their taste, 
They sport to please the goddess of the feast. 
Thus spake the ruler of the spacious skies ; 



OF PARNELL. 57 

But thus, resolv'd, the blue-ey'd maid replies. 
In vain, my father ! all their dangers plead ; 
To such, thy Pallas never grants her aid. 
My flowery wreaths they petulantly spoil, 
And rob my crystal lamps of feeding oil, 
Ills following ills : but what afflicts me more, 
My veil,, that idle race profanely tore. 
The web was curious, wrought with art divine ; 
Relentless wretches ! all the work was mine ; 
Along the loom the purple warp I spread, 
Cast the light shoot, and cross'd the silver thread. 
In this their teeth a thousand breaches tear ; 
The thousand breaches skilful hands repair ; 
For which vile earthly duns thy daughter grieve : 
The gods, that use no coin, have none to give ; 
And learning's goddess never less can owe : 
Neglected learning gains no wealth below. 
Nor let the frogs to win my succour sue, 
Those clamorous fools have lost my favour too. 
For late, when all the conflict ceas'd at night, 
When my stretch'd sinews work'd with eager fight ; 
When spent with glorious toil, I left the field, 
And sunk for slumber on my swelling shield ; 
Lo from the deep, repelling sweet repose, 
With noisy croakings half the nation rose : 
Devoid of rest, with aching brows I lay, 
Till cocks proclaim'd the crimson dawn of day. 
Let all, like me, from either host forbear, 
Nor tempt the flying furies of the spear ; 
Let heavenly blood, or what for blood may flow, 



SO THE POEMS 

Adorn the conquest of a meaner foe. 
Some .daring mouse may meet the wondrous odds, 
Though gods oppose, and brave the wounded gods. 
O'er gilded clouds reclin'd, the danger view, 
And be the wars of mortals scenes for you. 

So mov'd the blue-ey'd queen ; her words persuade, 
Great Jove assented, and the rest obey'd. 



OF PARNELL. 59 



HOMER'S BATTLE OF THE FROGS AND MICE. 
BOOK III. 

Now front to front the marching armies shine, 
Halt ere they meet, and form the lengthening line : 
Thfe chiefs conspicuous seen and heard afar, 
Give the loud signal to the rushing war ; 
Their dreadful trumpets deep-mouth'd hornets 

sound, 
The sounded charge remurmurs o'er the ground; 
E'en Jove proclaims a field of horror nigh, 
And rolls low thunder through the troubled sky. 

First to the fight the large Hypsiboas flew, 
And brave Lychenor with a javelin slew. 
The luckless warrior fill'd with generous flame, 
Stood foremost glittering in the post of fame ; 
When in his liver struck, the javelin hung ; 
The mouse fell thundering, and the target rung ; 
Prone to the ground he sinks his closing- eye, 
And soil'd in dust his lovely tresses lie. 

A spear at Pelion Troglodytes cast, 
The missive spear within the bosom past ; 
Death's sable shades the fainting frog surround, 
And life's red tide runs ebbing from the w r ound. 



60 



THE POEMS 



Embasichytros felt Seutiaeus' dart 
Transfix and quiver in his panting heart ; 
But great Artophagus aveng'd the slain, ' 
And big Seutiaeus tumbling loads the plain, 
And Polyphonus dies, a frog renown'd 
For boastful speech and turbulence of sound ; 
Deep through the belly pierc'd, supine he lay, 
And breath'd his soul against the face of day. 

The strong Lymnocharis, who view'd with ire 
A victor triumph, and a friend expire ; 
With heaving arms a rocky fragment caught, 
And fiercely flung where Troglodytes fought ; 
A warrior vers'd in arts, of sure retreat, 
But arts in vain elude impending fate ; 
Full on his sinewy neck the fragment fell, 
And o'er his eyelids clouds eternal dwell. 
Lychenor, second of the glorious name, 
Striding advanced, and took no wandering aim ; 
Through all the frog the shining javelin flies, 
And near the vanquish'd mouse the victor dies. 

The dreadful stroke Crambophagus affrights, 
Long bred to banquets, less inur'd to fights ; 
Heedless he runs, and stumbles o'er the steep, 
And wildly floundering flashes up the deep : 
Lychenor following with a downward blow, 
Reach'd in the lake his unrecover'd foe ; 
Gasping he rolls, a purple stream of blood 
Distains the surface of the silver flood ; 



OF PARNELL. 61 

Through the wide wound the rushing* entrails throng, 
And slow the breathless carcass floats along". 

Lymnisius good Tyroglyphus assails, 

Prince of the mice that haunt the flowery vales, 

Lost to the milky fares and rural seat, 

He came to perish on the bank of fate. 

The dread Pternoglyphus demands the fight, 

Which tender Calaminthius shuns by flight, 

Drops the green target, springing quits the foe, 

Glides through the lake, and safely dives below. 

But dire Pternophagus divides his way 

Through breaking ranks, and leads the dreadful day. 

No nibbling prince excell'd in fierceness more, 

His parents fed him on the savage boar ; 

But where his lance the field with blood imbru'd, 

Swift as he mov'd, Hydroeharis pursu'd, 

Till fallen in death he lies ; a shattering stone 

Sounds on the neck, and crushes all the bone ; 

His blood pollutes the verdure of the plain, 

And from his nostrils bursts the gushing brain. 



Lychopinax with Borb'roccetes fights, 

A blameless frog whom humbler life delights ; 

The fatal javelin unrelenting flies, 

And darkness seals the gentle croaker's eyes. 

Incens'd Prassophagus, with sprightly bound, 
Bears Cnissodioctes off the rising ground, 



62 THE POEMS 

Then drags him o'er the lake depriv'd of breath, 
And downward plunging, sinks his soul to death. 
But now the great Psycarpax shines afar,' 
(Scarce he so great whose loss provok'd the war,) 
Swift to revenge his fatal javelin fled, 
And through the liver struck Pelusius dead ; 
His freckled corpse before the victor fell, 
His soul indignant sought the shades of hell. 

This saw Pelobates, and from the flood 

Heav'd with both hands a monstrous mass of mud : 

The cloud obscene o'er all the hero flies, 

Dishonours his brown face, and blots his eyes. 

Enrag'd, and wildly spluttering, from the shore 

A stone immense of size the warrior bore, 

A load for labouring earth, whose bulk to raise, 

Asks ten degenerate mice of modern days : 

Full on the leg arrives the crushing wound ; 

The frog supportless writhes upon the ground. 

Thus flush'd, the victor wars with matchless force, 
Till loud Craugasides arrests his course : 
Hoarse-croaking threats precede ; with fatal speed 
Deep through the belly ran the pointed reed, 
Then strongly tugg'd, return'd imbru'd with gore ; 
And on the pile his reeking entrails bore. 

The lame Sitophagus, oppress'd with pain, 
Creeps from the desperate dangers of the plain ; 
And where the ditches rising weeds supply 



OF PARNELL. 63 

To spread their lowly shades beneath the sky, 
There lurks the silent mouse relieved from heat, 
And safe embower'd, avoids the chance of fate. 

But here Troxartes, Physignathus there, 
Whirl the dire furies of the pointed spear : 
But where the foot around its ankle plies, 
Troxartes wounds, and Physignathus flies, 
Halts to the pool a safe retreat to find, 
And trails a dangling length of leg behind. 
The mouse still urges, still the frog retires, 
And half in anguish of the flight expires. 

Then pious ardour young Prassaeus brings, 
Betwixt the fortunes of contending kings : 
Lank, harmless frog ! with forces hardly grown, 
He darts the reed in combats not his own, 
Which faintly tinkling on Troxartes' shield, 
Hangs at the point, and drops upon the field. 

Now nobly towering o'er the rest appears 
A gallant prince that far transcends his years, 
Pride of his sire, and glory of his house, 
And more a Mars in combat than a mouse ; 
His action bold, robust his ample frame, 
And Meridarpax his resounding name. 
The warrior singled from the fighting crowd, 
Boasts the dire honours of his arms aloud ; 
Then strutting near the lake, with looks elate, 
To all its nations threats approaching fate. 



64 THE POEMS 

And such his strength, the silver lakes around 
Might roll their waters o'er unpeopled ground ; 
But powerful Jove, who shows no less his' grace 
To frogs that perish, than to human race, 
Felt soft compassion rising in his soul, 
And shook his sacred head, that shook the pole. 
Then thus to all the gazing powers began 
The sire of gods, and frogs, and Mice, and man. 

What seas of blood I view ! what worlds of slain ! 
An Iliad rising from a day's campaign ! 
How fierce his javelin o'er the trembling lakes 
The black-furr'd hero Meridarpax shakes ! 
Unless some favouring deity descend, 
Soon will the frogs' loquacious empire end. 
Let dreadful Pallas wing'd with pity fly, 
And make her aegis blaze before his eye : 
While Mars refulgent on his rattling car, 
Arrests his raging rival of the war. 

He ceas'd, reclining with attentive head, 

When thus the glorious god of combats said. 

Nor Pallas, Jove ! though Pallas take the field, 

With all the terrors of her hissing shield, 

Nor Mars himself, though Mars in armour bright 

Ascend his car, and wheel amidst the fight ; 

Not these can drive the desperate mouse afar, 

Or change the fortunes of the bleeding war. 

Let all go forth, all heaven in arms arise ; 

Or launch thy own red thunder from the skies; 



OF PARNELL. 65 

Such ardent bolts as flew that wondrous day, 
When heaps of Titans mix'd with mountains lay, 
When all the giant race enormous fell, 
And huge Enceladus was hurl'd to hell." 

'Twas thus th' armipotent advis'd the gods, 
When from his throne the cloud-compeller nods ; 
Deep lengthenings thunders run from pole to pole, 
Olympus trembles as the thunders roll. 
Then swift he whirls the brandish'd bolt around, 
And headlong darts it at the distant ground ; 
The bolt discharg'd inwrapp'd with lightning flies, 
And rends its flaming passage through the skies : 
Then earth's inhabitants, the nibblers, shake, 
And frogs, the dwellers in the waters, quake. 
Yet still the mice advance their dread design, 
And the last danger threats the croaking line, 
Till Jove, that inly mourn'd the loss they bore, 
With strange assistants fiird the frighted shore. 

Pour'd from the neighb'ring strand, deform'd to 
They march, a sudden unexpected crew ! [view, 
Strong suits of armour round their bodies close, 
Which, like thick anvils, blunt the force of blows ; 
In wheeling marches turn'd, oblique they go ; 
With harpy claws their limbs divide below ; 
Fell sheers the passage to their mouth command ; 
From out the flesh their bones by nature stand ; 
Broad spread their backs, their shining shoulders 
rise : 



66 THE POEMS 

Unnumber'd joints distort their lengthen'd thighs ; 
With nervous cords their hands are firmly brac'd ; 
Their round black eyeballs in their bosom plac'd ; 
On eight long feet the wondrous warriors tread ; 
And either end alike supplies a head. 
These, mortal wits to call the crabs agree, 
The gods have other names for things than we. 

Now where the jointures from their loins depend, 
The heroes' tails with severing grasps they rend. 
Here, short of feet, depriv'd the power to fly, 
There, without hands, upon the field they lie. 
Wrench'd from their holds, and scatter'd all around, 
The bended lances heap the cumber'd ground. 
Helpless amazement, fear pursuing fear, 
And mad confusion through their host appear : 
O'er the wild waste with headlong flight they go, 
Or creep conceal'd in vaulted holes below. 

But down Olympus to the western seas 
Far- shooting Phoebus drove with fainter rays ; 
And a whole war (so Jove ordain'd) begun, 
Was fought, and ceas'd, in one revolving sun. 



OF PARNELL, 67 



TO MR. POPE. 

To praise, yet still with due respect to praise, 
A bard triumphant in immortal bays," 
The learn'd to show, the sensible commend, 
Yet still preserve the province of the friend, 
What life, what vigour, must the lines require ! 
What music tune them ! what affection fire ! 

O might thy genius in my bosom shine ! 
Thou shouldst not fail of numbers wwthy thine, 
The brightest ancients might at once agree 
To sing within my lays, and sing of thee. 

Horace himself would own thou dost excel 
In candid arts to play the critic well. 

Ovid himself might wish to sing the dame 
Whom Windsor forest sees a gliding stream ; 
On silver feet, with annual osier crown'd, 
She runs for ever through poetic ground. 

How flame the glories of Belinda's hair, 
Made by thy Muse the envy of the fair 
Less shone the tresses Egypt's princess wore, 
Which sweet Callimachus so sung before. 
Here courtly trifles set the world at odds, 



68 THE POEMS 

Belles war with beaux, and whims descend for gods. 
The new machines in names of ridicule, 
Mock the grave phrenzy of the chymic fool : 
But know, ye fair, a point concealed with art, 
The Sylphs and Gnomes are but a woman's heart : 
The Graces stand in sight ; a Satyr train 
Peep o'er their heads, and laugh behind the scene. 

In Fame's fair temple, o'er the boldest wits 
Inshrin'd on high the sacred Virgil sits, 
And sits in measures, such as Virgil's Muse 
To place thee near him might be fond to choose. 
How might he tune th' alternate reed with thee, 
Perhaps a Strephon thou, a Daphnis he, 
While some old Damon o'er the vulgar wise, 
Thinks he deserves, and thou deserv'st the prize ! 
Rapt with the thought my fancy seeks the plains, 
And turns me shepherd while I hear the strains. 
Indulgent nurse of every tender gale, 
Parent of flowerets, old Arcadia, hail ! 
Here in the cool my limbs at ease I spread, 
Here let thy poplars whisper o'er my head ; 
Still slide thy waters soft among the trees, 
Thy aspins quiver in a breathing breeze ; 
Smile all thy valleys in eternal spring, 
Be hush'd, ye winds ! while Pope and Virgil sing. 

In English lays, and all sublimely great, 
Thy Homer warms with all his ancient heat ; 
He shines in council, thunders in the fight, 



OF PARNELL. 69 

And flames with every sense of great delight. 
Long- has that poet reign'd, and long unknown, 
Like monarchs sparkling on a distant throne ; 
In all the majesty of Greek retir'd, 
Himself unknown, his mighty name admir'd ; 
His language failing, wrapp'd him round w T ith night, 
Thine, rais'd by thee, recalls the work to light. 
So wealthy mines, that ages long before 
Fed the large realms around with golden ore, 
When chok'd by sinking banks, no more appear, 
And shepherds only say, the mines were here ! 
Should some rich youth, if nature warm his heart, 
And all his projects stand inform'd with art, 
Here clear the caves, there ope the leading vein ; 
The mines detected flame with gold again. 

How vast, how copious are thy new designs ! 

How every music varies in thy lines ! 

Still as I read, I feel my bosom beat, 

And rise in raptures by another's heat. 

Thus in the wood, when summer dress'd the days, 

When Windsor lent us tuneful hours of ease, 

Our ears the lark, the thrush, the turtle blest, 

And Philomela, sweetest o'er the rest : 

The shades resound with song — O softly tread ! 

While a whole season warbles round my head. 

This to my friend — and when a friend inspires, 
My silent harp its master's hand requires, 
Shakes off the dust, and makes these rocks resound, 



70 



THE POEMS 



For fortune plac'd me in unfertile ground ; 
Far from the joys that with my soul agree, 
From wit, from learning, — far, O far from thee ! 
Here moss-grown trees expand the smallest leaf,. 
Here half an acre's corn is half a sheaf ; 
Here hills with naked heads the tempest meet, 
Rocks at their side, and torrents at their feet; 
Or lazy lakes, unconscious of a flood, 
Whose dull brown Naiads ever sleep in mud. 

Yet here content can dwell, and learned ease, 
A friend delight me, and an author please ; 
Even here I sing, while Pope supplies the theme, 
Show my own love, though not increase his fame. 



OF PARNELL. 



71 



A TRANSLATION OF PART OF THE FIRST 
CANTO OF THE RAPE OF THE LOCK, 

INTO LEONINE VERSE, AFTER THE MANNER OF THE ANCIENT 
MONKS. 

Et nunc dilectum speculum, pro more retectum, 
Emicat in mensa, quae splendet pyxide densa. 
Turn primum lymph a se purgat Candida nympha ; 
Jamque sine menda, ccelestis imago videnda, 
Nuda caput, bellos retinet, regit, implet, ocellos. 
Hac stupet explorans, seu cultus numen adorans. 
Inferior claram Pythonissa apparet ad aram, 
Fertque tibi caute, dicatque superbia ! laute, 



PART OF THE FIRST CANTO OF THE RAPE 
OF THE LOCK. 

And now unveil'd the toilet stands display'd, 

Each silver vase in mystic order laid. 

First, rob'd in white, the nymph intent adores, 

With head uncover'd, the cosmetic powers. 

A heavenly image in the glass appears, 

To that she bends, to that her eyes she rears : 

Th' inferior priestess, at her altar's side, 

Trembling, begins the sacred rites of pride. 



72 THE POEMS 

Dona venusta ; oris, quae cunctis, plena Iaboris, 
Excerpta explorat, dominamque deamque decorat. 
Pyxide devota, se pandit hie India tota, 
Et tota ex ista transpirat Arabia cista. 
Testudo hie flectit, dum se mea Lesbia pectit ; 
Atque elephas lente te pectit, Lesbia, dente ; 
Hunc maculis noris, nivei jacet ille coloris. 
Hie jacet et munde mundus muliebris abunde ; 
Spinula resplendens aeris longo ordine pendens, 
Pulvis suavis odore, et epistola suavis amore. 
Induit arma ergo Veneris pulcherrima virgo, 
Pulchrior in praesens tempus de tempore crescens ; 
Jam reparat risus, jam surgit gratia visus, 
Jam promit cultu miracula latentia vultu ; 



Unnumber'd treasures ope at once, and here 
The various offerings of the world appear ; 
From each she nicely culls with curious toil, 
And decks the goddess with the glittering spoil. 
This casket India's glowing gems unlocks, 
And all Arabia breathes from yonder box. 
The tortoise here and elephant unite, 
Transform'd to combs, the speckled and the white. 
Here files of pins extend their shining rows, 
Puffs, powders, patches, Bibles, billet-doux, 
Now awful beauty puts on all its arms, 
The fair each moment rises in her charms, 
Repairs her smiles, awakens every grace, 



OF PARNELL. 73 

Pigmina jam miscet, quo plus sua purpura gliscet, 
Et geminans bellis splendet mage fulgor ocellis. 
Stant Lemures muti, nymphse intentique saluti, 
Hie fig-it zonam, capiti locat ille coronam, 
Haec manicis formam, plicis dat et altera normam ; 
Et tibi vel Betty, tibi vel nitidissima Letty ! 
Gloria factorum temere conceditur riorum. 



And calls forth all the wonders of her face ; 
Sees by degrees a purer blush arise, 
And keener lightnings quicken in her eyes. 
The busy sylphs surround their darling care ; 
These set the head, and those divide the hair, 
Some fold the sleeve, while others plait the gown, 
And Betty's prais'd for labours not her own. 



74 THE POEMS 



HEALTH ; AN ECLOGUE. 

Now early shepherds o'er the meadow pass, 
And print long footsteps in the glittering grass ; 
The cows neglectful of their pasture stand, 
By turns obsequious to the milker's hand. 

When Damon softly trod the shaven lawn, 
Damon, a youth from city cares withdrawn ; 
Long was the pleasing walk he wander'd through, 
A cover'd arbour clos'd the distant view ; 
There rests the youth, and, while the feather'd 

throng 
Raise their wild music, thus contrives a song. 

Here, wafted o'er by mild Etesian air, 
Thou country goddess, beauteous Health, repair ! 
Here let my breast through quivering trees inhale 
Thy rosy blessings with the morning gale. 
What are the fields, or flowers, or all I see ? 
Ah ! tasteless all, if not enjoy 'd with thee. 

Joy to my soul ! I feel the Goddess nigh, 
The face of nature cheers as well as I ; 
O'er the flat green refreshing breezes run, 
The smiling daisies blow beneath the sun, 
The brooks run purling down with silver waves, 



OF PARNELL. 75 

The planted lanes rejoice with dancing leaves, 
The chirping birds from all the compass rove 
To tempt the tuneful echoes of the grove : 
High sunny summits, deeply shaded dales, 
Thick mossy banks, and flowery winding vales, 
With various prospect gratify the sight, 
And scatter fix'd attention in delight. 

Come, country Goddess, come ! nor thou suffice > 
But bring thy mountain-sister, Exercise. 
Call'd by thy lively voice, she turns her pace, 
Her winding horn proclaims the finish'd chace ; 
She mounts the rocks, she skims the level plain, 
Dogs, hawks, and horses, crowd her early train ; 
Her hardy face repels the tanning wind, 
And lines and meshes loosely float behind. 
All these as means of toil the feeble see, 
But these are helps to pleasure join'd with thee. 

Let Sloth lie softening till high noon in down, 

Or lolling fan her in the sultry town, 

Unnerv'd with rest ; and turn her own disease, 

Or foster others in luxurious ease : 

I mount the courser, call the deep-mouth'd hounds, 

The fox unkennell'd flies to covert grounds ; 

I lead where stags through tangled thickets tread, 

And shake the saplings with their branching head ; 

I make the falcons wing their airy way, 

And soar to seize, or stooping strike their prey; 

To snare the fish I fix the luring bait ; 



76 THE POEMS 

To wound the fowl I load the gun with fate. 
Tis thus through change of exercise I range, 
And strength and pleasure rise from every change. 

Here, beauteous Health, for all the year remain ; 

When the next comes, I'll charm thee thus again. 

O come, thou Goddess of my rural song, 
And bring thy daughter, calm Content, along ! 
Dame of the ruddy cheek and laughing eye, 
From whose bright presence clouds of sorrow fly : 
For her I mow my walks, I plat my bowers, 
Clip my low hedges, and support my flowers ; 
To welcome her, this summer seat I drest, 
And here I court her when she comes to rest ; 
When she from exercise to learned ease 
Shall change again, and teach the change to please. 

Now friends conversing my soft hours refine, 
And Tully's Tusculum revives in mine : 
Now to grave books I bid the mind retreat, 
And such as make me rather good than great ; 
Or o'er the works of easy fancy rove, 
Where flutes and innocence amuse the grove ; 
The native bard that on Sicilian plains 
First sung the lowly manners of the swains, 
Or Maro's Muse, that in the fairest light 
Paints rural prospects and the charms of sight : 
These soft amusements bring content along, 
And fancy, void of sorrow, turns to song. 

Here, beauteous Health, for all the year remain ; 

When the next comes, I'll charm thee thus again. 



OF PARXELL. 77 



THE FLIES. AN ECLOGUE. 

When in the river cows for coolness stand, 
And sheep for breezes seek the lofty land, 
A youth, whom iEsop taught that every tree, 
Each bird and insect, spoke as well as he, 
Walk'd calmly musing in a shaded way, 
Where flowering hawthorn broke the sunny ray, 
And thus instructs his moral pen to draw 
A scene that obvious in the field he saw. 

Near a low ditch, where shallow waters meet, 
Which never learnt to glide with liquid feet, 
Whose Naiads never prattle as they play, 
But screen'd with hedges slumber out the day, 
There stands a slender fern's aspiring shade, 
Whose answering branches regularly laid 
Put forth their answering boughs, and proudly rise 
Three stories upward, in the nether skies. 

For shelter here, to shun the noonday heat, 
An airy nation of the flies retreat ; 
Some in soft air their silken pinions ply, 
And some from bough to bough delighted fly, 
Some rise, and circling light to perch again ; 
A pleasing murmur hums along the plain. 
So, when a stage invites to pageant shows, 



78 THE POEMS 

If great and small are like, appear the beaux ; 
In boxes some with spruce pretension sit,. 
Some change from seat to seat within the pit, 
Some roam the scenes, or turning cease to roam ; 
Preluding music fills the lofty dome. 

When thus a fly (if what a fly can say 
Deserves attention) rais'd the rural lay. 

Where late Amintor made a nymph a bride, 
Joyful I flew by young Favonia's side, 
Who, mindless of the feasting, went to sip 
The balmy pleasure of the shepherd's lip. 
I saw the wanton, where I stoop'd to sup, 
And half resolv'd to drown me in the cup ; 
Till, brush'd by careless hands, she soar'd above : 
Cease, beauty, cease to vex a tender love. 
Thus ends the youth, the buzzing meadow rung, 
And thus the rival of his music sung. 

When suns by thousands shone in orbs of dew, 
I wafted soft with Zephyretta flew ; 
Saw the clean pail, and sought the milky cheer, 
While little Daphne seiz'd my roving dear. 
Wretch that I was ! I might have warn'd the dame, 
Yet sat indulging as the danger came. 
But the kind huntress left her free to soar : 
Ah ! guard, ye lovers, guard a mistress more. 

Thus from the fern, whose high-projecting arms, 



OF PARNELL, 79 

The fleeting nation bent with dusky swarms, 
The swains their love in easy music breathe, 
When tongues and tumult stun the field beneath. 
Black ants in teams come darkening all the road, 
Some call to march, and some to lift the load ; 
They strain, they labour with incessant pains, 
Press'd by the cumbrous weight of single grains. 
The flies struck silent gaze with wonder down : 
The busy burghers reach their earthy town, 
Where lay the burthens of a wintry store, 
And thence unwearied part in search of more. 
Yet one grave sage a moment's space attends, 
And the small city's loftiest point ascends, 
Wipes the salt dew that trickles down his face, 
And thus harangues them with the gravest grace. 

Ye foolish nurslings of the summer air, 

These gentle tunes and whining songs forbear ; 

Your trees and whispering breeze, your grove and 

love, 
Your Cupid's quiver, and his mother's dove. 
Let bards to business bend their vigorous wing, 
And sing but seldom, if they love to sing : 
Else, when the flowerets of the season fail, 
And this your ferny shade forsakes the vale, 
Though one would save ye, not one grain of wheat 
Should pay such songsters idling at my gate. 

He ceas'd : the flies, incorrigibly vain, 

Heard the mayor's speech, and fell to sing again. 



THE POEMS 



AN ELEGY, TO AN OLD BEAUTY. 

In vain, poor nymph, to please our youthful sight 
You sleep in cream and frontlets all the night, 
Your face with patches soil, with paint repair, 
Dress with gay gowns, and shade with foreign hair. 
If truth, in spite of manners, must be told, 
Why really fifty -five is something old. 

Once you were young ; or one, whose life's so long 
She might have borne my mother, tells me wrong : 
And once, since envy's dead before you die, 
The women own, you play'd a sparkling eye, 
Taught the light foot a modish little trip, 
And pouted with the prettiest purple lip. 

To some new charmer are the roses fled, 
Which blew, to damask all thy cheek with red ; 
Youth calls the Graces there to fix their reign, 
And airs by thousands fill their easy train. 
So parting summer bids her flowery prime 
Attend the sun to dress some foreign clime, 
While withering seasons in succession, here, 
Strip the gay gardens, and deform the year. 

But thou, since nature bids, the world resign ; 
'Tis now thy daughter's daughter's time to shine. 



OF PARttELL. 81 

With more address, or such as pleases more, 

She runs her female exercises o'er, 

Unfurls or closes, raps or turns the fan, 

And smiles, or blushes at the creature man. 

With quicker life, as gilded coaches pass, 

In sideling 1 courtesy she drops the glass. 

With better strength, on visit-days, she bears 

To mount her fifty flights of ample stairs. 

Her mien, her shape, her temper, eyes, and tongue, 

Are sure to conquer, — for the rogue is young ; 

And all that's madly wild, or oddly gay, 

We call it only pretty Fanny's way. 

Let time, that makes you homely, make you sage ; 
The sphere of wisdom is the sphere of age. 
'Tis true, when beauty dawns with early fire, 
And hears the flattering tongues of soft desire, 
Jf not from virtue, from its gravest ways 
The soul with pleasing avocation strays : 
But beauty gone, 'tis easier to be wise ; 
As harpers better, by the loss of eyes. 

Henceforth retire, reduce your roving airs, 
Haunt less the plays, and more the public prayers, 
Reject the Mechlin head, and gold brocade, 
Go pray, in sober Norwich crape array 'd. 
Thy pendant diamonds let thy Fanny take, 
(Their trembling lustre shows how much you shake ;) 
Or bid her wear thy necklace row'd with pearl, 
You'll find your Fanny an obedient girl. 

M 



82 THE POEMS 

So for the rest, with less incumbrance hung, 
You walk through life, unmingled with the young* ; 
And view the shade and substance, as you pass, 
With joint endeavour trifling at the glass, 
Or Folly drest, and rambling all her days, 
To meet her counterpart, and grow by praise : 
Yet still sedate yourself, and gravely plain, 
You neither fret, nor envy at the vain. 

'Twas thus, if man with woman we compare, 
The wise Athenian cross'd a glittering fair. 
Unmov'd by tongues and sights, he walk'd the 

place, 
Through tape, toys, tinsel, gimp, perfume, and lace : 
Then bends from Mars's hill his awful eyes, 
And — c What a world I never want ! ' he cries ; 
But cries unheard ; for Folly will be free. 
So parts the buzzing gaudy crowd, and he t 
As careless he for them, as they for him ; 
He wrapt in wisdom, and they whirl'd by whim* 



OF PARNELL. 83 



THE BOOK-WORM. 

Come hither, boy, we'll hunt to-day 
The hook-worm, ravening beast of prey, 
Produc'd by parent Earth, at odds, 
As fame reports it, with the gods. 
Him frantic hunger wildly drives 
Against a thousand authors' lives : 
Through all the fields of wit he flies ; 
Dreadful his head with clustering eyes, 
With horns without, and tusks within, 
And scales to serve him for a skin. 
Observe him nearly, lest he climb 
To wound the bards of ancient time, 
Or down the vale of fancy go 
To tear some modern wretch below. 
On every corner fix thine eye, 
Or ten to one he slips thee by. 

See where his teeth a passage eat : 
We'll rouse him from the deep retreat. 
But who the shelter's forc'd to give ? 
'Tis sacred Virgil, as I live ! 
From leaf to leaf, from song to song, 
He draws the tadpole form along, 
He mounts the gilded edge before, 
He's up, he scuds the cover o'er, 



84 THE POEMS 

He turns, he doubles, there he past, 
AndTiere we have him, caught at last. 

Insatiate brute, whose teeth abuse 
The sweetest servants of the Muse- 
Nay, never offer to deny, 
I took thee in the fact 'to fly. 
His roses nipt in every page, 
My poor Anacreon mourns thy rage ; 
By thee my Ovid wounded lies ; 
By thee my Lesbia's Sparrow dies ; 
Thy rabid teeth have half destroyed 
The work of love in Biddy Floyd ; 
They rent Belinda's locks away, 
And spoiFd the Blouzelind of Gay. 
For all, for every single deed, 
Relentless justice bids thee bleed : 
Then fall a victim to the Nine, 
Myself the priest, my desk the shrine. 

Bring Homer, Virgil, Tasso near, 
To pile a sacred altar here : 
Hold, boy y thy hand out-runs thy wit, 
You reach'd the plays that Dennis writ ; 
You reach'd me Philips' rustic strain ; 
Pray take your mortal bards again. 

Come, bind the victim, — there he lies, 
And here between his numerous eyes 



OF PARNELL. S5 

This venerabk dust I lay, 

From manuscripts just swept away. 

The goblet in my hand I take, 
For the libation's yet to make : 
A health to poets ! all their days, 
May they have bread, as well as praise ; 
Sense may they seek, and less engage 
In papers fili'd with party rage. 
But if their riches spoil their vein, 
Ye Muses, make them poor again. 

Now bring the weapon, yonder blade, 
With which my tuneful pens are made. 
I strike the scales that arm thee round, 
And twice and thrice I print the wound ; 
The sacred altar floats with red, 
And now he dies, and now he's dead. 

How like the son of Jove I stand, 
This Hydra stretch 'd beneath my hand ! 
Lay bare the monster's entrails here, 
To see what dangers threat the year : 
Ye gods ! w T hat sonnets on a wench ! 
What lean translations out of French ! 
'Tis plain, this lobe is so unsound, 
S prints, before the months go round. 

But hold, before I close the scene, 



86 THE POEMS 

The sacred altar should be clean . 

had I Shadwell's second bays, 
Or, Tate, thy pert and humble lays ! 
(Ye pair, forgive me, when I vow 

1 never miss'd your works till now,) 
I'd tear the leaves to wipe the shrine, 
That only way you please the Nine : 
But since I chance to want these two, 
I'll make the songs of Durfey do. 

Rent from the corps, on yonder pin, 
I hang the scales that brac'd it in ; 
I hang my studious morning gown, 
And write my own inscription down. 

< This trophy from the Python won, 
This robe, in which the deed was done, 
These, Parnell, glorying in the feat,. 
Hung on these shelves, the Muses' seat. 
Here Ignorance and Hunger found 
Large realms of wit to ravage round ; 
Here Ignorance and Hunger fell ; 
Two foes in one 1 sent to hell. 
Ye poets, who my labours see, 
Come share the triumph all with me I 
Ye critics, born to vex the Muse, 
Go mourn the grand ally you lose t " 



OF PARNELL, 



AN ALLEGORY ON MAN. 

A thoughtful being, long and spare, 
Our race of mortals call him Care, 
(Were Homer living, well he knew 
What name the gods have call'd him too,) 
With fine mechanic genius wrought, 
And lov'd to work^ though no one bought. 

This being, by a model bred 
In Jove's eternal sable head, 
Contriv'd a shape impower'd to breathe, 
And be the worldling here beneath. 

The, man rose staring, like a stake ; 
Wondering to see himself awake ! 
Then look'd so wise, before he knew 
The business he was made to do ; 
That, pleas'd to see with what a grace 
He gravely show'd his forward face, 
Jove talk'd of breeding him on high, 1 
An under-some thing of the sky. 

But ere he gave the mighty nod, 
Which ever binds a poet's god ; 
(For which his curls ambrosial shake, 
And mother Earth's oblig'd to quake,) 



88 THE POEMS 

He saw old mother Earth arise, 
She stood confess'd before his eyes ; 
But not with what we read she wore, 
A castle for a crown before, 
Nor with long streets and longer roads 
Dangling behind her, like commodes ; 
As yet with wreaths alone she drest, 
And trail'd a landskip-painted vest. 
Then thrice she rais'd, as Ovid said, 
And thrice she bow'd her weighty head. 

Her honours made, great Jove, she cried, 
This thing was fashion'd from my side ; 
His hands, his heart, his head, are mine ; 
Then what hast thou to call him thine ? 

Nay rather ask, the monarch said, 
What boots his hand, his heart, his head, 
Were what I gave removed away? 
Thy part's an idle shape of clay. 

Halves, more than halves ! cried honest Care, 
Your pleas would make your titles fair, 
You claim the body, you the soul, 
But I who join'd them, claim the whole. 

Thus with the gods debate began, 
On such a trivial cause, as man. 
And can celestial tempers rage ? 
Quoth Virgil in a later age. 



OF PARNELL. 89 

As thus they wrangled, Time came by; 

(There's none that paint him such as I, 

For what the fabling- ancients sung 

Makes Saturn old, when Time was young.) 

As yet his winters had not shed 

Their silver honours on his head ; 

He just had got his pinions free 

From his old sire Eternity. 

A serpent girdled round he wore, 

The tail within the mouth, before ; 

By which our almanacks are clear 

That learned Egypt meant the year. 

A staff he carried, where on high 

A glass was fiVd to measure by, 

As amber boxes made a show 

For heads of canes an age ago. 

His vest, for day, and night, was py'd ; 

A bending sickle arm'd his side ; 

And spring's new months his train adorn ; 

The other seasons were unborn. 

Known by the gods, as near he draws, 
They make him umpire of the cause. 
O'er a low trunk his arm he laid, 
Where since his hours a dial made ; 
Then leaning heard the nice debate, 
And thus pronounc'd the words of fate. 

Since body from the parent Earth, 
Arid soul from Jove receiv'd a birth, 



90 THE POEMS 

Return they where they first began ; 
But since their union makes the man, 
Till Jove and Earth shall part these two, 
To Care, who join'd them, man is due. 

He said, and sprung with swift career 
To trace a circle for the year ; 
Where ever since the seasons wheel, 
And tread on one another's heel. 

'Tis well, said Jove ; and for consent 
Thundering he shook the firmament : 
Our umpire Time shall have his way, 
With Care I let the creature stay. 
Let business vex him, avarice blind, 
Let doubt and knowledge rack his mind, 
Let error act, opinion speak, 
And want afflict, and sickness break, 
And anger burn, dejection chill, 
And joy distract, and sorrow kill : 
Till, arm'd by Care, and taught to mow, 
Time draws the long destructive blow ; 
And wasted man, whose quick decay 
Comes hurrying on before his day, 
Shall only find by this decree, 
The soul flies sooner back to me. 



OF PARNELL. 91 



AN IMITATION OF SOME FRENCH VERSES. 

Relentless Time ! destroying* power, 

Whom stone and brass obey, 
Who giv'st to every flying- hour 

To work some new decay ; 
Unheard, unheeded, and unseen, 

Thy secret saps prevail, 
And ruin man, a nice machine, 

By nature form'd to fail. 
My change arrives ; the change I meet, 

Before I thought it nigh : 
My spring, my years of pleasure fleet, 

And all their beauties die. 
In age I search, and only find 

A poor unfruitful gain, 
Grave Wisdom stalking slow behind, 

Oppress'd with loads of pain. 
My ignorance could once beguile, 

And fancied joys inspire ; 
My errors cherish'd Hope to smile 

On newly-born Desire. 
But now experience shews the bliss 

For which I fondly sought, 
Not worth the long impatient wish, 

And ardour of the thought. 
My youth met Fortune fair array 'd, 

(In all her pomp she shone,) 



92 



THE POEMS 



And might, perhaps, have well essay 'd 

To make her gifts my own : 
But when I saw the blessings shower 

On some unworthy mind, 
I left the chase, and own'd the power 

Was justly painted blind. 
I pass'd the glories which adorn 

The splendid courts of kings, 
And while the persons mov'd my scorn, 

I rose to scorn the things. 
My manhood felt a vigorous fire, 

By love increased the more ; 
But years with coming years conspire 

To break the chains I wore. 
In weakness safe, the sex I see 

With idle lustre shine ; 
For what are all their joys to me, 

Which cannot now be mine ? 
But hold — I feel my gout decrease, 

My troubles laid to rest, 
And truths, which would disturb my peace, 

Are painful truths at best. 
Vainly the time I have to roll 

In sad reflection flies ; 
Ye fondling passions of my soul ! 

Ye sweet deceits ! arise. 
I wisely change the scene within, 

To things that us'd to please ; 
In pain, philosophy is spleen, 

In health, 'tis only ease. 



OF PARNELL. 93' 



A NIGHT-PIECE ON DEATH. 

By the blue taper's trembling light, 
No more I waste the wakeful night, 
Intent with endless view to pore 
The schoolmen and the sages o'er : 
Their books from wisdom widely stray, 
Or point at best the longest way. 
I'll seek a readier path, and go 
Where wisdom's surely taught below. 

How deep yon azure dyes the sky, 
Where orbs of gold unnumber'd lie, 
While through their ranks in silver pride 
The nether crescent seems to glide ! 
The slumbering breeze forgets to breathe, 
The lake is smooth and clear beneath, 
Where once again the spangled show 
Descends to meet our eyes below. 
The grounds which on the right aspire, 
In dimness from the view retire : 
The left presents a place of graves, 
Whose wall the silent water laves. 
That steeple guides thy doubtful sight 
Among the livid gleams of night. 
There pass, with melancholy state. 



94 THE POEMS 

By all the solemn heaps of fate, 
And think, as softly-sad you tread 
Above the venerable dead, 
' Time was, like thee they life possest, 
And time shall be, that thou shalt rest/ 

Those graves, with bending osier bound, 
That nameless heave the crumbled ground, 
Quick to the glancing thought disclose, 
Where toil and poverty repose. 

The flat smooth stones that bear a name, 
The chisel's slender help to fame, 
(Which ere our set of friends decay 
Their frequent steps may wear away,) 
A middle race of mortals own, 
Men, half ambitious, all unknown. 

The marble tombs that rise on high, 
Whose dead in vaulted arches lie, 
Whose pillars swell with sculptur'd stones, 
Arms, angels, epitaphs, and bones. 
These, all the poor remains of state, 
Adorn the rich, or praise the great ; 
Who while on earth in fame they live, 
Are senseless of the fame they give. 

Hah ! while I gaze, pale Cynthia fades, 

The bursting earth unveils the shades I 

All slow, and wan, and wrapp'd with shrouds, 



OF PARNELL. 95 

They rise in visionary crowds, 
And all with sober accent cry, 
' Think, mortal, what it is to die/ 

Now from yon black and funeral yew, 
That bathes the charnel-house with dew, 
Methinks I hear a voice begin ; 
(Ye ravens, cease your croaking din, 
Ye tolling clocks, no time resound 
O'er the long lake and midnight ground !) 
It sends a peal of hollow groans, 
Thus speaking from among the bones. 

' When men my scythe and darts supply, 
How great a king of fears am I ! 
They view me like the last of things : 
They make, and then they dread, my stings. 
Fools ! if you less provok'd your fears, 
No more my spectre form appears. 
Death's but a path that must be trod, 
If man would ever pass to God ; 
A port of calms, a state of ease 
From the rough rage of swelling seas. 

' Why then thy flowing sable stoles, 
Deep pendant cypress, mourning poles, 
Loose scarfs to fall athwart thy weeds, 
Long palls, drawn hearses, cover'd steeds, 
And plumes of black, that, as they tread, 
Nod o'er the scutcheons of the dead ? 



95 THE POEMS 

i Nor can the parted body know, 
Nor wants the soul, these forms of woe. 
As men who long in prison dwell, 
With lamps that glimmer round the cell, 
Whene'er their suffering years are run, 
Spring forth to greet the glittering sun : 
Such joy, though far transcending sense, 
Have pious souls at parting hence. 
On earth, and in the body plac'd, 
A few, and evil years they waste ; 
But when their chains are cast aside, 
See the glad scene unfolding wide, 
Clap the glad wing, and tower away, 
And mingle with the blaze of day.' 



OF PARE ELL. 97 



A HYMN TO CONTENTMENT. 

Lovely, lasting 1 peace of mind ! 
Sweet delight of human-kind ! 
Heavenly-born, and bred on high, 
To crown the favourites of the sky 
With more of happiness below, 
Than victors in a triumph know ! 
Whither, O whither art thou fled, 
To lay thy meek, contented head ; 
What happy region dost thou please 
To make the seat of calms and ease ! 

Ambition searches all its sphere 
Of pomp and state, to meet thee there. 
Encreasing Avarice would find 
Thy presence in its gold enshrin'd. 
The bold adventurer ploughs his way, 
Through rocks amidst the foaming 1 sea, 
To gain thy love ; and then perceives 
Thou wert not in the rocks and waves. 
The silent heart, which grief assails, 
Treads soft and lonesome o'er the vales, 
Sees daisies open, rivers run, 
And seeks, as I have vainly done, 
Amusing thought ; but learns to know 

1ST 



98 THE POEMS 

That solitude's the nurse of woe. 

No real happiness is found 

In trailing purple o'er the ground ; 

Or in a soul exalted high, 

To range the circuit of the sky, 

Converse with stars above, and know 

All nature in its forms below; 

The rest it seeks, in seeking dies, 

And doubts at last, for knowledge, rise. 

Lovely, lasting peace, appear ! 
This world itself, if thou art here, 
Is once again with Eden blest, 
And man contains it in his breast. 

'Twas thus, as under shade I stood, 
I sung my wishes to the wood, 
And lost in thought, no more perceiv'd 
The branches whisper as they wav'd : 
It seem'd, as all the quiet place 
Confess'd the presence of the Grace. 
When thus she spoke — li Go rule thy will, 
Bid thy wild passions all be still, 
Know God — and bring thy heart to know 
The joys which from religion flow : 
Then every Grace shall prove its guest, 
And I'll be there to crown the rest." 

Oh ! by yonder mossy seat, 
In my hours of sweet retreat, 



OF PARNELL. 99 

Might I thus my soul employ, 
With sense of gratitude and joy ! 
Rais'd as ancient prophets were, 
In heavenly vision, praise, and prayer ; 
Pleasing all men, hurting none, 
Pleas'd and bless'd with God alone : 
Then while the gardens take my sight, 
With all the colours of delight ; 
While silver waters glide along, 
To please my ear, and court my song ; 
I'll lift my voice, and tune my string, 
And thee, great source of nature, sing. 

The sun that walks his airy way, 
To light the world, and give the day ; 
The moon that shines with bor'row'd light ; 
The stars that gild the gloomy night ; 
The seas that roll unnumber'd waves ; 
The wood that spreads its shady leaves ; 
The field whose ears conceal the grain, 
The yellow treasure of the plain ; 
All of these, and all I see, 
Should be sung, and sung by me : 
They speak their maker as they can, 
But want and ask the tongue of man. 

Go search among your idle dreams, 
Your busy or your vain extremes ; 
And find a life of equal bliss, 
Or own the next begun in this. 



100 THE POEMS 






THE HERMIT. 

Far in a wild, unknown to public view, 
From youth to age a reverend hermit grew ; 
The moss his bed, the cave his humble cell, 
His food the fruits, his drink the crystal well : 
Remote from man, with God he pass'd the days, 
Prayer all his business, all his pleasure praise. 

A life so sacred, such serene repose, 

Seem'd heaven itself, till one suggestion rose ; 

That vice should triumph, virtue vice obey, 

This sprung some doubt of Providence's sway : 

His hopes no more a certain prospect boast, 

And all the tenour of his soul is lost. 

So when a smooth expanse receives imprest 

Calm nature's image on its watery breast, 

Down bend the banks, the trees depending grow. 

And skies beneath with answering colours glow : 

But if a stone the gentle scene divide, 

Swift ruffling circles curl on every side, 

And glimmering fragments of a broken sun, 

Banks, trees, and skies, in thick disorder run. 

To clear this doubt, to know the world by sight, 
To find if books, or swains, report it right, 
(For yet by swains alone the world he knew, 



OF PARNELL. 101 

Whose feet came wandering o'er the nightly dew,) 
He quits his cell ; the pilgrim-staff he bore, 
And fix'd the scallop in his hat before ; 
Then with the sun a rising journey went, 
Sedate to think, and watching each event. 

The morn was wasted in the pathless grass, 
And long and lonesome was the wild to pass ; 
But when the southern sun had warm'd the day, 
A youth came posting o'er a crossing way ; 
His raiment decent, his complexion fair, 
And soft in graceful ringlets wav'd his hair. 
Then near approaching, " Father, hail !" he cried ; 
" And hail, my son," the reverend sire replied ; 
Words follow'd words, from question answer flow'd, 
And talk of various kind deceiv'd the road ; 
Till each with other pleas'd, and loth to part, 
While in their age they differ, join in heart : 
Thus stands an aged elm in ivy bound, 
Thus youthful ivy clasps an elm around. 

Now sunk the sun ; the closing hour of day 
Came onward, mantled o'er with sober gray ; 
Nature in silence bid the world repose ; 
When near the road a stately palace rose : 
There by the moon through ranks of trees they pass, 
Whose verdure crown'd their sloping sides of grass. 
It chanc'd the noble master of the dome 
Still made his house the wandering stranger's home : 
Yet still the kindness, from a thirst of praise, 



102 THE POEMS 

Prov'd the vain flourish of expensive ease. 
The pair arrive : the liveried servants wait ; 
Their lord receives them at the pompous gate. 
The table groans with costly piles of food, 
And all is more than hospitably good. 
Then led to rest, the day's long toil they drown, 
Deep sunk in sleep, and silk, and heaps of down. 

At length 'tis morn, and at the dawn of day, 
Along the wide canals the zephyrs play $ 
Fresh o'er the gay parterres the breezes creep, 
And shake the neighbouring wood to banish 

sleep. 
Up rise the guests, obedient to the call : 
An early banquet deck'd the splendid hall ; 
Rich luscious wine a golden goblet grac'd, 
Which the kind master forc'd the guests to taste. 
Then, pleas'd and thankful, from the porch they go ; 
And, but the landlord, none had cause of woe ; 
His cup was vanish'd ; for in secret guise 
The younger guest purloin' d the glittering prize. 

As one who spies a serpent in his way, 

Glistening and basking in the summer ray, 

Disorder'd stops to shun the danger near, 

Then walks with faintness on, and looks with fear ; 

So seem'd the sire ; when far upon the road, 

The shining spoil his wily partner show'd. 

He stopp'd with silence, walk'd with trembling 

heart, 
And much he wish'd, but durst not ask to part : 



OF PARNELL. 103 

Murmuring he lifts his eyes, and thinks it hard, 
That generous actions meet a base reward. 

While thus they pass, the sun his glory shrouds, 
The changing skies hang out their sable clouds ; 
A sound in air presag'd approaching rain, 
And beasts to covert scud across the plain. 
Warn'd by the signs, the wandering pair retreat, 
To seek for shelter at a neighbouring seat. 
'Twas built with turrets, on a rising ground, 
And strong, and large, and unimprov'd around ; 
Its owner's temper, timorous and severe, 
Unkind and griping, caus'd a desert there. 

As near the miser's heavy doors they drew, 
Fierce rising gusts with sudden fury blew ; 
The nimble lightning mix'd with showers began, 
And o'er their heads loud rolling thunder ran. 
Here long they knock, but knock or call in vain, 
Driven by the wind, and batter'd by the rain. 
At length some pity warm'd the master's breast, 
('Twas then, his threshold first receiv'd a guest,) 
Slow creaking turns the door with jealous care, 
And half he welcomes in the shivering pair ; 
One frugal faggot lights the naked walls, 
And nature's fervour through their limbs recalls : 
Bread of the coarsest sort, with eager wine, 
Each hardly granted, serv'd them both to dine ; 
And when the tempest first appear'd to cease, 
A ready warning bid them part in peace. 
With still remark the pondering hermit view'd 



104 



THE POEMS 



In one so rich, a life so poor and rude ; 

And why should such, within himself he cried, 

Lock the lost wealth a thousand want beside ? 

But what new marks of wonder soon took place 

In every settling feature of his face, 

When from his vest the young* companion bore 

That cup, the generous landlord own'd before, 

And paid profusely with the precious bowl 

The stinted kindness of this churlish soul ! 

But now the clouds in airy tumult fly ; 

The sun emerging opes an azure sky ; 

A fresher green the smelling leaves display, 

And, glittering as they tremble, cheer the day : 

The weather courts them from the poor retreat, 

And the glad master bolts the wary gate. 

While hence they walk, the pilgrim's bosom 

wrought 
With all the travel of uncertain thought ; 
His partner's acts without their cause appear, 
'Twas there a vice, and seem'd a madness here : 
Detesting that, and pitying this, he goes, 
Lost and confounded with the various shows. 

Now night's dim shades again involve the sky, 
Again the wanderers want a place to lie, 
Again they search, and find a lodging nigh : 
The soil improv'd around, the mansion neat, 
And neither poorly low, nor idly great : 



OF PARNELL. 105 

It seem'd to speak its master's turn of mind, 
Content, and not for praise, but virtue kind. 

Hither the walkers turn with weary feet, 
Then bless the mansion, and the master greet : 
Their greeting fair bestow'd, with modest guise, 
The courteous master hears, and thus replies : 

" Without a vain, without a grudging heart, 
To him who gives us all, I yield a part ; 
From him you come, for him accept it here, 
A frank and sober, more than costly cheer." 
He spoke, and bid the welcome table spread, 
Then talk'd of virtue till the time of bed, 
When the grave household round his hall repair, 
Warn'd by a bell, and close the hours with prayer. 

At length the world, renew'd by calm repose, 
Was strong for toil, the dappled morn arose. 
Before the pilgrims part, the younger crept 
Near the clos'd cradle where an infant slept, 
And writh'd his neck : the landlord's little pride, 
O strange return ! grew black, and gasp'd, and died. 
Horror of horrors ! what ! his only son ! 
How look'd our hermit when the fact was done ? 
Not hell, though hell's black jaws in sunder part, 
And breathe blue fire, could more assault his heart. 

Confus'd, and struck with silence at the deed, 
He flies, but, trembling, fails to fly with speed. 



106 THE POEMS 

His steps the youth pursues : the country lay 
Perple^'d with roads, a servant show'd the way: 
A river cross'd the path ; the passage o'er 
Was nice to find ; the servant trod before : 
Long* arms of oaks an open bridge supplied, 
And deep the waves beneath the bending glide. 
The youth, who seem'd to watch a time to sin, 
Approached the careless guide, and thrust him in ; 
Plunging he falls, and rising lifts his head, 
Then flashing turns, and sinks among the dead. 

Wild, sparkling rage inflames the father's eyes, 
He bursts the bands of fear, and madly cries, 
" Detested wretch !" — but scarce his speech began, 
When the strange partner seem'd no longer man : 
His youthful face grew more serenely sweet ; 
His robe turn'd white, and flow'd upon his feet ; 
Fair rounds of radiant points invest his hair ; 
Celestial odours breathe through purpled air ; 
And wings, whose colours glitter'd on the day, 
Wide at his back their gradual plumes display. 
The form ethereal bursts upon his sight, 
And moves in all the majesty of light. 

Though loud at first the pilgrim's passion grew, 
Sudden he gaz'd, and wist not what to do ; 
Surprise in secret chains his words suspends, 
And in a calm his settling temper ends. 
But silence here the beauteous angel broke, 
The voice of music ravish'd as he spoke. 



OF PARNELL. 107 

" Thy prayer, thy praise, thy life to vice unknown, 
In sweet memorial rise before the throne : 
These charms, success in our bright region find, 
And force an angel down, to calm thy mind ; 
For this, commission'd, I forsook the sky, 
Nay, cease to kneel — thy fellow- servant I. 

" Then know the truth of government divine, 
And let these scruples be no longer thine. 

" The Maker justly claims that world he made, 
In this the right of Providence is laid ; 
Its sacred majesty through all depends 
On using second means to work his ends : 
'Tis thus, withdrawn in state from human eye, 
The power exerts his attributes on high, 
Your actions uses, nor controls your will, 
And bids the doubting sons of men be still. 

' c What strange events can strike with more surprise , 
Than those which lately struck thy wondering eyes ? 
Yet taught by these, confess th' Almighty just, 
And where you can't unriddle, learn to trust ! 

" The great, vain man, who far'd on costly food, 
Whose life was too luxurious to be good ; 
Who made his ivory stands with goblets shine, 
And forc'd his guests to morning draughts of wine, 
Has, with the cup, the graceless custom lost, 
And still he welcomes, but with less of cost. 



108 THE POEMS 

" The mean, suspicious wretch, whose bolted door 
Ne'er mov'd in duty to the wandering poor ; 
With him I left the cup, to teach his mind 
That heaven can bless, if mortals will be kind. 
Conscious of wanting 1 worth, he views the bowl, 
And feels compassion touch his grateful soul. 
Thus artists melt the sullen ore of lead, 
With heaping coals of fire upon its head ; 
In the kind warmth the metal learns to glow, 
And loose from dross, the silver runs below. 

" Long had our pious friend in virtue trod, 

But now the child half-wean'd his heart from God ; 

Child of his age, for him he liv'd in pain, 

And measur'd back his steps to earth again. 

To what excesses had this dotage run ! 

But God, to save the father, took the son. 

To all but thee, in fits he seem'd to go, 

And 'twas my ministry to deal the blow. 

The poor fond parent, humbled in the dust, 

Now owns in tears the punishment was just. 

" But how had all his fortune felt a wrack, 
Had that false servant sped in safety back ! 
This night his treasur'd heaps he meant to steal, 
And what a fund of charity would fail ! 

" Thus Heaven instructs thy mind: this trial o'er r 
Depart in peace, resign, and sin no more/' , 



OF PARNELL. 109 

On sounding 1 pinions here the youth withdrew, 
The sage stood wondering as the seraph flew. 
Thus look'd Elisha, when, to mount on high, 
His master took the chariot of the sky ; 
The fiery pomp ascending left the view ; 
The prophet gaz'd, and wish'd to follow too. 

The bending* hermit here a prayer begun, 
" Lord ! as in heaven, on earth thy will be done !'' 
Then gladly turning, sought his ancient place, 
And pass'd a life of piety and peace. 



110 THE POEMS 



FIETY ; OR THE VISION. 

'Twas when the night in silent sable fled, 
When cheerful morning sprung with rising red, 
When dreams and vapours leave to crowd the brain, 
And best the vision draws its heavenly scene ; 
'Twas then, as slumbering on my couch I lay, 
A sudden splendour seem'd to kindle day, 
A breeze came breathing in a sweet perfume, 
Blown from eternal gardens, fill'd the room ; 
And in a void of blue, that clouds invest, 
Appear'd a daughter of the realms of rest ; 
Her head a ring of golden glory wore, 
Her honour'd hand the sacred volume bore, 
Her raiment glittering seem'd a silver white, 
And all her sweet companions sons of light. 

Straight as I gaz'd, my fear and wonder grew, 
Fear barr'd my voice, and wonder fix'd my view ; 
When lo ! a cherub of the shining crowd 
That sail'd as guardian in her azure cloud, 
Fann'd the soft air, and downwards seem'd to glide, 
And to my lips a living coal applied. 
Then while the warmth o'er all my pulses ran 
Diffusing comfort, thus the maid began : 

" Where glorious mansions are prepar'd above, 
The seats of music, and the seats of love, 



OF PAMELL. Ill 

Thence I descend, and Piety my name, 

To warm thy bosom with celestial flame, 

To teach thee praises mix'd with humble prayers, 

And tune thy soul to sing seraphic airs. 

Be thou my bard." A vial here she caught, 

(An angel's hand the crystal vial brought,) 

And as with awful sound the word was said, 

She pour'd a sacred unction on my head ; 

Then thus proceeded : " Be thy Muse thy zeal, 

Dare to be good, and all my joys reveal. 

While other pencils flattering forms create, 

And paint the gaudy plumes that deck the great ; 

While other pens exalt the vain delight, 

Whose wasteful revel wakes the depth of night ; 

Or others softly sing in idle lines 

How Damon courts, or Amaryllis shines ; 

More wisely thou select a theme divine, 

Fame is their recompense, 'tis heaven is thine. 

Despise the raptures of discorded fire, 

Where wine, or passion, or applause inspire 

Low restless life, and ravings born of earth, 

Whose meaner subjects speak their humble birth, 

Like working seas, that, when loud winters blow, 

Not made for rising, only rage below. 

Mine is a warm and yet a lambent heat, 

More lasting still, as more intensely great, 

Produc'd where prayer, and praise, and pleasure 

breathe, 
And ever mounting whence it shot beneath. 
Unpaint the love, that, hovering o\er beds, 



112 THE POEMS 

From glittering pinions guilty pleasure sheds ; 
Restore the colour to the golden mines 
With which behind the feather'd idol shines ; 
To flowering greens give back their native care, 
The rose and lily, never his to wear ; 
To sweet Arabia send the balmy breath ; 
Strip the fair flesh, and call the phantom Death ; 
His bow be sabled o'er, his shafts the same, 
And fork and point them with eternal flame. 

" But urge thy powers, thine utmost voice ad- 
vance, 
Make the loud strings against thy fingers dance ; 
'Tis love that angels praise and men adore, 
'Tis love divine that asks it all and more. 
Fling back the gates of ever-blazing day, 
Pour floods of liquid light to gild the way ; 
And all in glory wrapt, through paths untrod, 
Pursue the great unseen descent of God ; 
Hail the meek virgin, bid the child appear, 
The child is God, and call him Jesus here. 
He comes, but where to rest ? A manger's nigh, 
Make the great Being in a manger lie ; 
Fill the wide sky with angels on the wing, 
Make thousands gaze, and make ten thousand 

sing; 
Let men afflict him, men he came to save, 
And still afflict him till he reach the grave ; 
Make him resign'd, his loads of sorrow meet, 
And me, like Mary, weep beneath his feet ; 



OF PARNELL. 113 

I'll bathe my tresses there, my prayers rehearse, 
And glide in flames of love along thy verse. 

" Ah ! while I speak, I feel my bosom swell, 

My raptures smother what I long to tell. 

,r Tis God ! a present God ! through cleaving air 

I see the throne, and see the Jesus there 

Plac'd on the right. He shows the wounds he bore, 

(My fervours oft have won him thus before) ; 

How pleas'd he looks ! my words have reach'd his 

ear; 
He bids the gates unbar ; and calls me near." 

She ceas'd. The cloud on which she seem'd to 

tread 
Its curls unfolded, and around her spread ; 
Bright angels waft their wings to raise the cloud, 
And sweep their ivory lutes, and sing aloud ; 
The scene moves off, while all its ambient sky 
Is turned to wondrous music as they fly ; 
And soft the swelling sounds of music grow, 
And faint their softness, till they fail below. 

My downy sleep the warmth of Phoebus broke, 
And while my thoughts were settling, thus I spoke. 
" Thou beauteous vision ! on the soul impressed, 
When most my reason would appear to rest, 
*Twas sure with pencils dipt in various lights 
Some curious angel limn'd thy sacred sights ; 
From blazing suns his radiant gold he drew, 
o 



1 14 . THE POEMS 

While moons the silver gave, and air the blue. 
I'll mount the roving wind's expanded wing, 
And seek the sacred hill, and light to sing ; 
(Tis known in Jewry w r ell) I'll make my lays, 
Obedient to thy summons, sound with praise. " 

But still I fear, unwarm'd with holy flame, 
I take for truth the flatteries of a dream ; 
And barely wish the wondrous gift I boast, 
And faintly practise what deserves it most. 

Indulgent Lord ! whose gracious love displays 
Joy in the light, and fills the dark with ease ! 
Be this, to bless my days, no dream of bliss ; 
Or be, to bless the nights, my dreams like this. 



OF PARNELL. 115 



BACCHUS ; OR, THE DRUNKEN 
METAMORPHOSIS: 

As Bacchus, ranging* at his leisure, 

(Jolly Bacchus, king of pleasure !) 

Charm'd the wide world with drink and dances, 

And all his thousand airy fancies, 

Alas ! he quite forgot the while 

His favourite vines in Lesbos isle. 

The god, returning ere they died, 
" Ah ! see my jolly Fauns/' he cried, 
" The leaves but hardly born are red, 
And the bare arms for pity spread : 
The beasts afford a rich manure ; 
Fly, my boys, to bring the cure ; 
Up the mountains, o'er the vales, 
Through the woods, and down the dales ; 
For this, if full the clusters grow, 
Your bowls shall doubly overflow." 

So cheer'd, with more officious haste 
They bring the dung of every beast ; 
The loads they wheel, the roots they bare, 
They lay the rich manure with care ; 
While oft he calls to labour hard, 
And names as oft the red reward. 



116 THE POEMS 

The plants refresh'd, new leaves appear, 
The' thickening clusters load the year ; 
The season swiftly purple grew, 
The grapes hung dangling deep with blue. 

A vineyard ripe, a day serene 
Now calls them all to work again. 
The Fauns through every furrow shoot 
To load their flaskets with the fruit ; 
And now the vintage early trod, 
The wines invite the jovial god. 

Strow the roses, raise the song, 

See the master comes along ; 

Lusty Revel join'd with Laughter, 

Whim and Frolic follow after : 

The Fauns aside the vats remain, 

To show the work, and reap the gain. 

All around, and all around, 

They sit to riot on the ground ; 

A vessel stands amidst the ring, 

And here they laugh, and there they sing ; 

Or rise a jolly jolly band, 

And dance about it hand in hand ; 

Dance about, and shout amain, 

Then sit to laugh and sing again. 

Thus they drink, and thus they play 

The sun and all their wits away. 

But, as an ancient author sung, 



OF PARNELL. 117 

The vine manur'd with every dung, 
From every creature strangely drew 
A twang of brutal nature too ; 
'Twas hence in drinking on the lawns 
New turns of humour seiz'd the Fauns. 

Here one was crying out, " By Jove !" 
Another, " Fight me in the grove ;" 
This wounds a friend, and that the trees ; 
The lion's temper reign'd in these. 

Another grins, and leaps about, 

And keeps a merry world of rout, 

And talks impertinently free, 

And twenty talk the same as he ; 

Chattering, idle, airy, kind ; 

These take the monkey's turn of mind. 

Here one, that saw the Nymphs which stood 

To peep upon them from the wood, 

Skulks off to try if any maid 

Be lagging late beneath the shade ; 

While loose discourse another raises 

In naked nature's plainest phrases, 

And every glass he drinks enjoys, 

With change of nonsense, lust, and noise ; 

Mad and careless, hot and vain ; 

Such as these the goat retain. 

Another drinks and casts it up, 



118 THE POEMS 

And drinks, and wants another cup ; 

Solemn, silent, and sedate, 

Ever long, and ever late, 

Full of meats, and full of wine ; 

This takes his temper from the swine. 

Here some who hardly seem to breathe, 
Drink, and hang the jaw beneath. 
Gaping, tender, apt to weep ; 
Their nature's alter'd by the sheep. 

Twas thus one autumn all the crew, 
(If what the poets say be true) 
While Bacchus made the merry feast, 
Inclin'd to one or other beast ; 
And since, 'tis said, for many a mile 
He spread the vines of Lesbos isle. 



OF PARNELL. 119 



DR. DONNE'S THIRD SATIRE VERSIFIED. 

Compassion checks my spleen, yet scorn denies 

The tears a passage through my swelling eyes : 

To laugh or weep at sins, might idly show 

Unheedful passion, or unfruitful woe. 

Satire ! arise, and try thy sharper ways, 

If ever satire cur'd an old disease. 

Is not Religion (Heaven-descended dame) 

As worthy all our soul's devoutest flame i 

As moral Virtue in her early sway, 

When the best Heathens saw by doubtful day ? 

Are not the joys, the promis'd joys above, 

As great and strong to vanquish earthly love, 

As earthly glory, fame, respect, and show, 

As all rewards their virtue found below ? 

Alas ! Religion proper means prepares, 

These means are ours, and must its end be theirs ? 

And shall thy father's spirit meet the sight 

Of heathen sages cloth'd in heavenly light* 

Whose merit of strict life, severely suited 

To reason's dictates, may be faith imputed, 

Whilst thou, to whom he taught the nearer road, 

Art ever banish'd from the blest abode ? 

Oh ! if thy temper such a fear can find, 
This fear were valour of the noblest kind. 



120 



THE POEMS 



Dar'st thou provoke, when rebel souls aspire, 

Thy Maker's vengeance, and thy monarch's ire ; 

Or live entomb'd in ships, thy leader's prey, 

Spoil of the war, the famine, or the sea ; 

In search of pearl, in depth of ocean breathe, 

Or live, exil'd the sun, in mines beneath, 

Or, where in tempests icy mountains roll, 

Attempt a passage by the northern pole ? 

Or dar'st thou parch within the fires of Spain, 

Or burn beneath the line, for Indian gain ? 

Or for some idol of thy fancy draw 

Some loose-gown'd dame ? O courage made of 

straw ! 
Thus, desperate coward, wouldst thou bold appear, 
Yet when thy God has plac'd thee sentry here, 
To thy own foes, to his, ignoble yield, 
And leave, for wars forbid, th' appointed field ? 

Know thy own foes ; th' apostate angel ; he 
You strive to please, the foremost of the three ; 
He makes the pleasures of his realm the bait, 
But can he give for love that acts in hate ? 
The world's thy second love, thy second foe, 
The world, whose beauties perish as they blow, 
They fly, she fades herself, and at the best, 
You grasp a wither'd strumpet to your breast ; 
The flesh is next, which in fruition wastes, 
High flush'd with all the sensual joys it tastes. 
While men the fair, the goodly soul destroy, 
From whence the flesh has power to taste a joy, 



OF PARNELL. 121 

Seek thou Religion primitively sound — 

Well, gentle friend, but where may she be found? 

By faith implicit blind Ignaro led, 
Thinks the bright seraph from his country fled, 
And seeks her seat at Rome, because we know, 
She there was seen a thousand years ago ; 
And loves her relic rags, as men obey 
The foot-cloth where the prince sat yesterday. 
These pageant forms are whining Obed's scorn, 
Who seeks Religion at Geneva born, 
A sullen thing, whose coarseness suits the crowd ; 
Though young, unhandsome ; though unhand- 
some, proud; 
Thus, with the wanton, some perversely judge 
All girls unhealthy but the country drudge. 

No foreign schemes make easy Caepio roam, 
The man contented takes his church at home ; 
Nay, should some preachers, servile bawds of gain, 
Should some new laws, which like new fashions 

reign, 
Command his faith to count salvation tied, 
To visit his, and visit none beside ; 
He grants salvation centres in his own, 
And grants it centres but in his alone ; 
From youth to age he grasps the proffer'd dame, 
And they confer his faith, who give his name ; 
So from the guardian's hands the wards, who live 
Enthrall'd to guardians, take the wives they give. 



V2Z THE POEMS 

From all professions careless Airy flies, 

ci Forall professions can't be good," he cries; 

And here a fault, and there another views, 

And lives unfix'd for want of heart to choose ; 

So men, who know what some loose girls have done, 

For fear of marrying such, will marry none. 

The charms of all obsequious Courtly strike ; 

On each he dotes, on each attends alike ; 

And thinks, as different countries deck the dame, 

The dresses altering, and the sex the same : 

So fares Religion, chang'd in outward show, 

But, 'tis Religion still where'er we go : 

This blindness springs from an excess of light, 

And men embrace the wrong to choose the right. 

But thou of force must one Religion own, 

And only one, and that the right alone ; 

To find that right one, ask thy reverend sire, 

Let his of him, and him of his inquire ; 

Though Truth and Falsehood seem as twins allied, 

There's eldership on Truth's delightful side ; 

Her seek with heed — who seeks the soundest first, 

Is not of no Religion, nor the worst. 

T' adore, or scorn an image, or protest, 

May all be bad ; doubt wisely for the best, 

'Twere wrong to sleep, or headlong run astray ; 

It is not wandering, to inquire the way. 

On a large mountain, at the basis wide, 
Steep to the top, and craggy at the side, 
Sits sacred Truth enthron'd ; and he who means 



OF PARNELL. 123 

To reach the summit, mounts with weary pains r 
Winds round and round, and every turn essays 7 
Where sudden breaks resist the shorter ways, 
Yet labour so, that ere faint age arrive, 
Thy searching soul possess her rest alive : 
To work by twilight were to work too late, 
And age is twilight to the night of fate. 
To will alone, is but to mean delay, 
To work at present is the use of day. 
For man's employ much thought and deed remain. 
High thoughts the soul, hard deeds the body strain , 
And mysteries ask believing, which to view, 
Like the fair Sun, are plain, bat dazzling too. 

Be Truth, so found, with sacred heed possest, 

Not kings have power to tear it from thy breast. 

By no blank charters harm they where they hate ? 

Nor are they vicars, but the hands of fate. 

Ah ! fool and wretch, who lett'st thy soul be tied 

To human laws ! or must it so be tried ? 

Or will it boot thee, at the latest day, 

When Judgment sits, and Justice asks thy plea. 

That Philip that, or Gregory taught thee this, 

Or John or Martin ? All may teach amiss : 

For every contrary in each extreme 

This holds alike, and each may plead the same. 

Wouldst thou to power a proper duty show ? 
'Tis thy first task the bounds of power to know ; 
The bounds once pass'd, it holds the same no more^ 



124 THE POEMS 

Its nature alters, which it own'd before, 

Nor were submission humbleness exprest, 

But all a low idolatry at best. 

Power from above, subordinately spread, 

Streams like a fountain from th' eternal head; 

There, calm and pure, the living waters flow, 

But roars a torrent or a flood below ; 

Each flower ordaind the margins to adorn, 

Each native beauty, from its roots is torn, 

And left on deserts, rocks and sands, are tost, 

All the long travel, and in ocean lost. 

So fares the soul, which more that power reveres, 

Man claims from God, than what in God inheres. 



OF PARNELL. 125 



ON BISHOP BURNET'S BEING SET ON FIRE 
IN HIS CLOSET. 

Prom that dire era, bane to Sarum's pride, 
Which broke his schemes, and laid his friends 

aside, 
He talks and writes that popery will return, 
And we, and he, and all his works will burn. 
What touch'd himself was almost fairly prov'd : 
Oh, far from Britain be the rest remov'd ! 
For, as of late he meant to bless the age, 
With flagrant prefaces of party-rage, 
O'er- wrought with passion, and the subject's 

weight, 
Lolling, he nodded in his elbow seat ; 
Down fell the candle ; grease and zeal conspire, 
Heat meets with heat, and pamphlets burn their 

sire. 
Here crawls a preface on its half-burn'd maggots, 
And there an introduction brings its faggots : 
Then roars the prophet of the northern nation, 
Scorch'd by a flaming speech on moderation. 

Unwarn'd by this, go on, the realm to fright, 
Thou Briton vaunting in thy second-sight ! 
In such a ministry you safely tell, 
How much you'd suffer, if religion fell. 



126 



THE POEMS 



ON MRS. ARABELLA FERMOR LEAVING 
LONDON. 

From town fair Arabella flies ; 

The beaux unpowder'd grieve : 
The rivers play before her eyes ; 
The breezes, softly breathing, rise ; 

The Spring begins to live. 

Her lovers swore, they must expire, 
Yet quickly find their ease ; 

For, as she goes, their flames retire; 

Love thrives before a nearer fire, 
Esteem by distant rays. 

Yet soon the fair one will return, 
When Summer quits the plain : 

Ye rivers, pour the weeping urn ; 

Ye breezes, sadly sighing, mourn ; 
Ye lovers, burn again ! 

'Tis constancy enough in love 
That nature's fairly shown : 

To search for more, will fruitless prove ; 

Romances, and the turtle-dove, 
The virtue boast alone. 



OF PARNELL. 127 



CHLORIS APPEARING IN A LOOKING-GLASS. 

Oft have I seen a piece of art, 

Of light and shade the mixture fine, 

Speak all the passions of the heart, 
And show true life in every line. 

But what is this before my eyes, 
With every feature, every grace, 

That strikes with love, and with surprise, 
And gives me all the vital face ? 

It is not Chloris : for, behold, 

The shifting phantom comes and goes ; 

And when 'tis here, 'tis pale and cold, 
Nor any female softness knows. 

But 'tis her image, for I feel 

The very pains that Chloris gives ; 

Her charms are there, I know them well, 
I see what in my bosom lives. 

Oh, could I but the picture save ! 

Tis drawn by her own matchless skill ; 
Nature the lively colours gave, 

And she need only look to kill. 



128 POEMS OF PARNELL. 

Ah ! fair one, will it not suffice, 
That I should once your victim lie ; 

Unless you multiply your eyes, 

And strive to make me doubly die ? 



THE LIFE OF ZOILUS. 

AND HIS REMARKS ON HOMER'S BATTLE 
OF THE FROGS AND MICE. 



Vide quam iniqui sunt divinorum munerum aestimatores 
etiam quidam professi sapientiam. — Seneca. 



PREFACE. 

Having some time ago heard, that the transla- 
tion of Homer's Iliad would be attempted, I re- 
solved to confer with the gentleman who undertook 
it. I found him of a tall presence and thoughtful 
countenance, with his hands folded, his eyes fixed, 
and his beard un trimmed. This I took to be a 
good omen, because he thus resembled the Con- 
stantinopolitan statue of Homer, which Cedrenus 
describes ; and surely nothing could have been 
liker, had he but arrived at the character of age 
and blindness. As my business was to be my 
introduction, I told him how much I was ac- 
quainted with the secret history of Homer ; that 
no one better knows his own horse, than I do the 
camel of Bactria, in which his soul resided at the 
time of the Trojan wars ; that my acquaintance 
continued with him, as he appeared in the person 
of the Grecian poet ; that I knew him in his next 
transmigration into a peacock ; was pleased with 
his return to manhood, under the name of Ennius 
at Rome ; and more pleased to hear he would 
soon revive under another name, with all his full 
lustre, in England. This particular knowledge, 
added I, which sprung from the love I bear him, 
has made me fond of a conversation with you, in 
order to the success of your translation. 



132 PREFACE, 

The civil manner in which he received my pro- 
posal encouraging me to proceed, I told him, there 
were arts of success, as well as merits to obtain 
it; and that he, who now dealt in Greek, should 
not only satisfy himself with being a good Grecian, 
but also contrive to hasten into the repute of it. 
He might therefore write in the title-page, trans- 
lated from the original Greek, and select a motto 
for his purpose out of the same language. He 
might obtain a copy of verses written in it to 
prefix to the work ; and not call the titles of each 
book, the first and second, but Iliad Alpha, and 
Beta. He might retain some names which the 
world is least acquainted with, as his old translator 
Chapman uses Ephaistus instead of Vulcan, Bara- 
trum for Hell ; and if the notes were filled with 
Greek verses, it would more increase the wonder 
of many readers. Thus I went on; when he told 
me smiling, I had shown him indeed a set of arts 
very different from merit, for which reason, he 
thought, he ought not to depend upon them. A 
success, says he, founded on the ignorance of 
others, may bring a temporary advantage, but 
neither a conscious satisfaction, nor future fame to 
the author. Men of sense despise the affectation 
which they easily see through, and even they who 
were dazzled with it at first, are no sooner informed 
of its being an affectation, but they imagine it also 
a veil to cover imperfection. 

The next point I ventured to speak on, was the 
sort of poetry he intended to use ; how some may 



PREFACE. 133 

fancy, a poet of the greatest fire would be imitated 
better in the freedom of blank verse, and the des- 
cription of war sounds more pompous out of rhyme. 
But, will the translation, said he, be thus removed 
enough from prose, without greater inconveni- 
ences ? What transpositions is Milton forced to, 
as an equivalent for want of rhyme, in the poetry 
of a language which depends upon a natural order 
of words ? And even this would not have done 
his business, had he not given the fullest scope to 
his genius, by choosing a subject upon which 
there could be no hyperboles. We see (however 
he be deservedly successful) that the ridicule of 
his manner succeeds better than the imitation of 
it ; because transpositions, which are unnatural to 
a language, are to be fairly derided, if they ruin it 
by being frequently introduced ; and because hy- 
perboles, which outrage every lesser subject where 
they are seriously used, are often beautiful in 
ridicule. Let the French, whose language is not 
copious, translate in prose ; but ours, which ex- 
ceeds it in copiousness of words, may have a more 
frequent likeness of sounds, to make the unison or 
rhyme easier ; a grace of music, that atones for 
the harshness our consonants and monosyllables 
occasion. 

After this, I demanded what air he would ap- 
pear with ? whether antiquated, like Chapman's 
version, or modern, like La Motte's contraction. 
To which he answered, by desiring me to observe 
what a painter does who would always have his 



134 PREFACE. 

pieces in fashion. He neither chooses to draw a 
beauty in a ruff, or a French head ; but with its 
neck uncovered, and in its natural ornament of 
hair curled up, or spread becomingly : so may a 
writer choose a natural manner of expressing him- 
self, which will always be in fashion, without 
affecting to borrow an odd solemnity and unintelli- 
gible pomp from the past times, or humouring the 
present by falling into its affectations, and those 
phrases which are born to die with it. 

I asked him, lastly, whether he would be strictly 
literal, or expatiate with further licenses ? I 
would not be literal, replies he, or tied up to line 
for line in such a manner wherein it is impossible 
to express in one language what has been deli- 
vered in another. Neither would I so expatiate, 
as to alter my author's sentiments, or add others 
of my own. These errors are to be avoided on 
either hand, by adhering not only to the word, but 
the spirit and genius of an author; by considering 
what he means, with what beautiful manner he 
has expressed his meaning in his own tongue, and 
how he would have expressed himself, had it been 
in ours. Thus we ought to seek for Homer in a 
version of Homer. Other attempts are but trans- 
formations of him ; such as Ovid tells us, where 
the name is retained, and the thing altered. This 
will be really what you mentioned in the compli- 
ment you began with, a transmigration of the 
poet from one country to another. 

Here ended the serious part of our conference. 



PREFACE. 135 

All I remember further was, that having* asked 
him, what he designed with all those editions and 
comments I observed in his room ? he made 
answer, that if any one, who had a mind to find 
fault with his performance, would but stay until it 
was entirely finished, he should have a very cheap 
bargain of them. 

Since this discourse, I have often resolved to 
try what it was to translate in the spirit of a 
writer, and at last chose the Battle of the Frogs 
and Mice, which is ascribed to Homer ; and bears 
a nearer resemblance to his Iliad, than the Culex 
does to the iEneid of Virgil. Statius and others 
think it a work of youth, written as a prelude to 
his greater poems. Chapman thinks it the w r ork 
of his age, after he found men ungrateful; to show 
he could give strength, lineage, and fame, as he 
pleased, and praise a mouse as well as a man. 
Thus, says he, the poet professedly flung up the 
world, and applied himself at last to hymns. Now, 
though this reason of his may be nothing more 
than a scheme formed out of the order in which 
Homer's works are printed, yet does the conjec- 
ture, that this poem was written after the Iliad, 
appear probable, because of its frequent allusions 
to that poem ; and particularly that there is not a 
frog or a mouse killed, which has not its parallel 
instance there, in the death of some warrior or 
other. 

The poem itself is of the epic kind ; the time of 
its action the duration of two days; the subject 



136 PREFACE. 

(however in its nature frivolous, or ridiculous) 
raised, hy having the most shining words and deeds 
of gods and heroes accommodated to it : and while 
other poems often compare the illustrious exploits 
of great men to those of brutes, this always 
heightens the subject by comparisons drawn from 
things above it. We have a great character given 
it with respect to the fable in Gaddius de Script, 
non Eccles. It appears, says he, nearer perfec- 
tion than the Iliad, or Odysses, and excels both in 
judgment, wit, and exquisite texture, since it is a 
poem perfect in its own kind. Nor does Crusius 
speak less to its honour, with respect to the moral, 
when he cries out in an apostrophe to the reader ; 
" Whoever you are, mind not the names of these 
little animals, but look into the things they mean; 
call them men, call them kings, or counsellors, or 
human polity itself, you have here doctrines of 
every sort." And indeed, when I hear the frog 
talk concerning the mouse's family, I learn, equality 
should be observed in making friendships ; when 
I hear the mouse answer the frog, I remember, 
that a similitude of manners should be regarded in 
them; when I see their councils assembling, I 
think of the bustles of human prudence ; and 
when I see the battle grow warm and glorious, our 
struggles for honour and empire appear before me. 
This piece had many imitations of it in anti- 
quity, as the fight of the cats, the cranes, the 
starlings, the spiders, &c. That of the cats is in 
the Bodleian Library, but I was not so lucky as to 



PREFACE. 137 

find it. I have taken the liberty to divide my 
translation into books (though it be otherwise in 
the original) according as the fable allowed proper 
resting places, by varying its scene, or nature of 
action : this I did, after the example of Aristar- 
chus and Zenodotus in the Iliad. I then thought 
of carrying the grammarians' example further, and 
placing arguments at the head of each, which I 
framed as follows, in imitation of the short ancient 
Greek inscriptions to the Iliad. 

BOOK I. 

In Alpha, the ground 
Of the quarrel is found. 

BOOK II. 

In Beta, we 
The council see. 

BOOK III. 

Dire Gamma relates 
The work of the fates. 

But as I am averse from all information which 
lessens our surprise, I only mention these for a 
handle to quarrel with the custom of long argu- 
ments before a poem. It may be necessary in 
books of controversy or abstruse learning, to write 
an epitome before each part ; but it is not kind to 
forestall us in the work of fancy, ■ and make our 



138 PREFACE. 

attention remiss, by a previous account of the end 
of it. , 

The next thing which employed my thoughts 
was the heroes' names. It might perhaps take off 
somewhat from the majesty of the poem, had I 
cast away such noble sounds as, Physignathus, 
Lychopinax, and Crambophagus, to substitute Bluff- 
cheek, Lick-dish, and Cabbage-eater, in their places. 
It is for this reason I have retained them untrans- 
lated : however, I place them in English before 
the poem, and sometimes give a short character 
extracted out of their names ; as in Polyphonus, 
Pternophagus, &c, that the reader may not want 
some light of their humour in the original. 

But what gave me a greater difficulty was, to 
know how I should follow the poet, when he in- 
serted pieces of lines from his Iliad, and struck 
out a sprightliness by their new application. To 
supply this in my translation, I have added one or 
two of Homer's particularities ; and used two or 
three allusions to some of our English poets who 
most resemble him, to keep up some image of this 
spirit of the original with an equivalent beauty. 
To use more, might make my performance seem a 
cento rather than a translation, to those who know 
not the necessity I lay under. 

I am not ignorant, after all my care, how the 
world receives the best compositions of this nature. 
A man need only go to a painter's, and apply what 
he hears said of a picture to a translation, to find 



PREFACE. 139 

how he shall be used upon his own, or his author's 
account. There one spectator tells you, a piece 
is extremely fine, but he sets no value on what is 
not like the face it was drawn for ; while a second 
informs you, such another is extremely like, but 
he cares not for a piece of deformity, though its 
likeness be never so exact. 

Yet notwithstanding all which happens to the 
best, when I translate, 1 have a desire to be reck- 
oned amongst them ; and I shall obtain this, if 
the world will be so good natured as to believe 
writers that give their own characters : upon 
which presumption, I answer to all objections be- 
forehand, as follows : 

When I am literal, I regard my author's words; 
when I am not, I translate in his spirit. If I am 
low, I choose the narrative style ; if high, the 
subject required it. When I am enervate, I give 
an instance of ancient simplicity ; when affected, 
I show a point of modern delicacy. As for beau- 
ties, there never can be one found in me which 
was not really intended ; and for any faults, they 
proceeded from too unbounded fancy, or too nice 
judgment, but by no means from any defect in 
either of those faculties. 



140 



THE LIFE OF ZOILUS. 

Pendentem volo Zoilum videre. — -Martial. 

They who have discoursed concerning" the nature 
and extent of criticism, take notice, that editions 
of authors, the interpretations of them, and the 
judgment which is passed upon each, are the three 
branches into which the art divides itself. But 
the last of these, that directs in the choice of 
books, and takes care to prepare us for reading 
them, is by the learned Bacon called the chair of 
the critics. In this chair (to carry on the figure) 
have sate Aristotle, Demetrius Phalereus, Diony- 
sius Halicarnassensis, Cicero, Horace, Quintilian, 
and Longinus ; all great names of antiquity, the 
censors of those ages which went before, and the 
directors of those that come after them, with re- 
spect to the natural and perspicuous manners of 
thought and expression, by which a correct and 
judicious genius may be able to write for the plea- 
sure and profit of mankind. 

But whatever has been advanced by men really 
great in themselves, has been also attempted by 
others of capacities either unequal to the under- 
taking, or which have been corrupted by their 
passions, and drawn away into partial violences : 
so that we have sometimes seen the province of 
criticism usurped, by such who judge with an 



TFIE LIFE OF ZOILUS. 141 

obscure diligence, and a certain dryness of un- 
derstanding, incapable of comprehending a figu- 
rative style, or being moved by the beauties of 
imagination ; and at other times by such, whose 
natural moroseness in general, or particular de- 
signs of envy, has rendered them indefatigable 
against the reputation of others. 

In this last manner is Zoilus represented to us 
by antiquity, and with a character so abandoned, 
that his name has been since made use of to brand 
all succeeding critics of his complexion. He has 
a load of infamy thrown upon him, great, in pro- 
portion to the fame of Homer, against whom he 
opposed himself: if the one was esteemed as the 
very residence of wit, the other is described as a 
profligate, who would destroy the temple of Apollo 
and the Muses, in order to have his memory pre- 
served by the envious action. I imagine it may 
be no ungrateful undertaking to wTite some ac- 
count of this celebrated person, from whom so 
many derive their character ; and I think the life 
of a critic is not unseasonably put before the 
works of his poet, especially when his censures 
accompany him. If what he advances be just, he 
stands here as a censor ; if otherwise, he appears 
as an addition to the poet's fame, and is placed 
before him with the justice of antiquity in its sa- 
crifices, when, because such a beast had offended 
such a deity, he was brought annually to his altar 
to be slain upon it. 

Zoilus was born at Amphipolis, a city of Thrace, 



142 THE LIFE OF ZOILUS. 

during the time in which the Macedonian empire 
flourished. Who his parents were, is not certainly 
known; but if the appellation of Thracian Slave, 
which the world applied to him, be not merely an 
expression of contempt, it proves him of mean 
extraction. He was a disciple of one Poly crates 
a sophist, who had distinguished himself by writing 
against the great names of the ages before him ; 
and who, when he is mentioned as his master, is 
said to be particularly famous for a bitter accusa- 
tion or invective against the memory of Socrates. 
In this manner is Zoilus set out to posterity, like 
a plant naturally baneful, and having its poison 
rendered more acute and subtle by a preparation. 
In his person he was tall and meagre, his com- 
plexion was pale, and all the motions of his face 
were sharp. He is represented by iElian, with a 
beard nourished to a prodigious length, and his 
head kept close shaved, to give him a magisterial 
appearance: his coat hung over his knees, in a 
slovenly fashion ; his manners were formed upon 
an aversion to the customs of the world. He was 
fond of speaking ill, diligent to sow dissension, 
and from the constant bent of his thought, had 
obtained that sort of readiness for slander or re- 
proach, which is esteemed wit by the light opinion 
of some, who take the remarks of ill-nature, for 
an understanding of mankind, and the abrupt 
lashes of rudeness for the spirit of expression. 
This, at last, grew to such a heigh th in him, that 
he became careless of concealing it ; he threw off 



THE LIFE OF ZOILUS. 143 

all reserves and managements in respect of others, 
and the passion so far took the turn of a frenzy, 
that being one day asked, why he spoke ill of 
every one? " It is," says he, " because I am not 
able to do them ill, though I have so great a mind 
to it." Such extravagant declarations of his ge- 
neral enmity made men deal with him as with the 
creature he affected to be ; they no more spoke of 
him as belonging to the species he hated ; and 
from henceforth his learned speeches or fine re- 
marks could obtain no other title for him, but that 
of The Rhetorical Dog. 

While he was in Macedon he employed his time 
in writing, and reciting what he had written in 
the schools of sophists. His oratory (says Dio- 
nysius Halicarnassensis) was always of the demon- 
strative kind, which concerns itself about praise or 
dispraise. His subjects were the most approved 
authors, whom he chose to abuse upon the ac- 
count of their reputation ; and to whom, without 
going round the matter in faint praises or artificial 
insinuations, he used to deny their own character- 
istics. With this gallantry of opposition did he 
censure Xenophon for affectation, Plato for. vulgar 
notions, and Isocrates for incorrectness. Demos- 
thenes, in his opinion, wanted fire, Aristotle 
subtlety, and Aristophanes humour. But, as to 
have reputation was with him a sufficient cause of 
enmity, so to have that reputation universal, was 
what wrought his frenzy to its wildest degree ; for 
which reason it was Homer with whom he was 



144 THE LIFE OF ZOILUS. 

most implacably angry. And certainly, if envy 
choose its object for the power to give torment, it 
should here, (if ever) have the glory of fully 
answering its intentions ; for the poet was so 
worshipped by the whole age, that his critic had 
not the common alleviation of the opinion of one 
other man, to concur in his condemnation. 

Zoilus, however, went on with indefatigable 
industry in a voluminous work, which he entitled, 
the tyoyog, or Censure of Homer: until having 
at last finished it, he prepares to send it into the 
world with a pompous title at the head, invented 
for himself by w r ay of excellency, and thus in- 
serted after the manner of the ancients. 

Zoilus, the scourge of Homer, zvrit this against 
that lover of fables. 

Thus did he value himself upon a work, which 
the world has not thought worth transmitting to 
us, and but just left a specimen in five or six quo- 
tations, which happen to be preserved by the 
commentators of that poet against whom he writ 
it. If any one be fond to form a judgment upon 
him from these instances, they are as follow : 

II. I. He says, Homer is very ridiculous (a 
word he was noted to apply to him) when he 
makes such a god as Apollo employ himself in 
killing dogs and mules. 

II. 5. Homer is very ridiculous in describing 
Diomede's helmet and armour, as sparkling, and 
in a blaze of fire about him ; for then why was he 
not burned by it ? 



THE LIFE OF ZOILUSi 145 

II. 5. When Idaeus quitted his fine chariot, 
which was entangled in the fight, and for which 
he might have been slain, the poet was a fool for 
making him leave his chariot, he had better have 
run away in it. 

II. 24. When Achilles makes Priam lie out of 
his tent, lest the Greeks should hear of his being 
there, the poet had no breeding to turn a king out 
in that manner. 

Od. 9. The poet says, Ulysses lost an equal 
number out of each ship. The critic says, that's 
impossible. 

Od. 10. He derides the men who were turned 
into swine, and calls them Homer's poor little 
blubbering pigs. The first five of these remarks 
are found in Didymus, the last in Longinus. 

Such as these are the cold jests and trifling 
quarrels, which have been registered from a com- 
position, that (according to the representation 
handed down to us) was born in envy, lived a 
short life in contempt, and lies for ever buried 
with infamy. 

But, as his design was judged by himself won- 
derfully well accomplished, Macedon began to be 
esteemed a stage too narrow for his glory; and 
Egypt, which had then taken learning into its 
patronage, the proper place where it ought to 
diffuse its beams, to the surprise of all whom he 
would persuade to reckon themselves hitherto in 
the dark, and under the prejudices of a false admi- 
ration. However, as he had prepared himself for 
Q 



146 THE LIFE OF ZOILUS. 

the journey, he was suddenly diverted for a while 
by the, rumour of the Olympic games, which were 
at that time to be celebrated. Thither he steered 
his course, full of the memory of Herodotus, and 
others who had successfully recited in that large 
assembly ; and pleased to imagine he should alter 
all Greece in their notions of wit before he left it. 
Upon his arrival, he found the field in its prepa- 
ration for diversion. The chariots stood for the 
race, carved and gilded, the horses were led in 
costly trappings, some practised to wrestle, some 
to dart the spear, (or whatever they designed to 
engage at) in a kind of flourish beforehand : 
others were looking on, to amuse themselves ; and 
all gaily dressed, according to the custom of those 
places. Through these did Zoilus move forward, 
bald-headed, bearded to the middle, in a long sad- 
coloured vestment, and inflexibly stretching forth 
his hands filled with volumes rolled up to a vast 
thickness : a figure most venerably slovenly ! able 
to demand attention upon account of its oddness. 
And indeed, he had no sooner fixed himself upon 
an eminence, but a crowd flocked about him to 
know what he intended. Then the critic casting 
his eyes on the ring, opened his volume slowly, as 
considering with what part he might most properly 
entertain his audience. It happened, that the 
games at Patroclus's obsequies came first into his 
thought ; whether it was that he judged it suitable 
to the place, or knew that he had fallen as well 
upon the games themselves, as upon Homer for 



THE LIFE OF ZOILUS. 147 

celebrating them, and could not resist his natural 
disposition to give mankind offence. Every one 
was now intently fastened upon him, while he 
undertook to prove, that those games signified 
nothing to the taking of Troy, and therefore only 
furnished an impertinent episode : that the fall of 
the lesser Ajax in cow-dung, the squabble of the 
chariot race, and other accidents which attend 
such sports, are mean or trifling ; and a world of 
other remarks, for which he still affirmed Homer 
to be a fool, and which they that heard him took 
for studied invectives against those exercises they 
were then employed in. Men who frequent sports, 
as they are of a cheerful disposition, so are they 
lovers of poetry : this, together with the opinion 
they were affronted, wrought them up to impa- 
tience and further licenses ; there was particularly 
a young Athenian gentleman, who was to run 
three chariots in those games, who being an 
admirer of Homer, could no longer contain him- 
self, but cried out, " What in the name of Castor 
have we here, Zoilus from Thrace ?" and as he 
said it, struck him with a chariot whip. Imme- 
diately then a hundred whips were seen curling 
round his head ; so that his face, naturally de- 
formed, and heightened by pain to its utmost cari- 
catura, appeared in the midst of them, as we may 
fancy the visage of envy, if at any time her 
snakes rise in rebellion to lash their mistress. Nor 
was this all the punishment they decreed him, 



148 THE LIFE OF ZOILUS. 

when once they imagined he was Zoilus. The 
Scyronian rocks were near them, and thither they 
hurried him with a general cry, to that speedy 
justice which is practised at places of diversion. 
, It is here, that, according to Suidas, the critic 
expired. But we, following the more numerous 
testimonies of other authors, conclude he escaped 
either by the lowness of those rocks whence he 
was thrust, or by bushes which might break his 
fall ; and soon after following the courses of his 
first intention, he set sail for Egypt. 

Egypt was at this time governed by Ptolemy 
Philadelphus, a prince passionately fond of learn- 
ing, and learned men; particularly an admirer of 
Homer to adoration. He had built the finest 
library in the world, and made the choicest, as 
well as most numerous collection of books. No 
encouragements were wanting from him to allure 
men of the brightest genius to his court, and no 
time thought too much which he spent in their 
company. From hence it is that we hear of 
Eratosthenes and Aristophanes, those universal 
scholars, and candid judges of other men's per- 
formances ; Callimachus, a poet of the most easy, 
courteous delicacy, famous for a poem on the 
cutting of Berenice's hair, and whom Ovid so 
much admired as to say, " It was reason enough 
for him to love a woman, if she would but tell him 
he exceeded Callimachus ;" Theocritus, the most 
famous in the pastoral way of writing ; and among 



THE LIFE OF ZOILUS. 149 

the young* men, Aristarchus and Apollonius Rho- 
dius, the one of whom proved a most judicious 
critic, the other a poet of no mean character. 

These and many more filled the court of that 
munificent prince, whose liberal dispensations of 
wealth and favour became encouragements to every 
one to exert their parts to the utmost ; like streams 
which flow through different sorts of soils, and 
improve each in that for which it was adapted by 
nature. 

Such was the court when Zoilus arrived ; but 
before he entered Alexandria, he spent a night in 
the temple of Isis, to enquire of the success of his 
undertaking ; not that he doubted the worth of his 
works, but his late misfortune had instructed him, 
that others might be ignorant of it. Having 
therefore performed the accustomed sacrifice, and 
composed himself to rest upon the hide, he had a 
vision which foretold of his future fame. 

He found himself sitting under the shade of a 
dark yew, which was covered with hellebore and 
hemlock, and near the mouth of a cave, where sat 
a monster, pale, wasted, surrounded with snakes, 
fostering a cockatrice in her bosom ; and cursing 
the sun for making the work of the deities appear 
in its beauty. The sight of this bred fear in him ; 
when she suddenly turning her sunk eyes, put on 
a hideous kind of a loving grins, in which she dis- 
covered a resemblance to some of his own features. 
Then turning up her snakes, and interlacing them 
in the form of a turban, to give him less disgust, 



150 THE LIFE OF ZOILUS. 

thus she addressed herself: " Go on, my son, in 
whom -I am renewed, and prosper in thy brave 
undertakings on mankind : assert their wit to be 
dulness ; prove their sense to be folly ; know truth 
only when it is on thy own side ; and acknowledge 
learning at no other time to be useful. Spare not 
an author of any rank or size ; let not thy tongue 
or pen know pity ; make the living feel thy accu- 
sations ; make the ghosts of the dead groan in 
their tombs for their violated fame. But why do 
I spend time in needless advice, which may be 
better used in encouragement? Let thy eyes 
delight themselves with the future recompense 
which I have reserved for thy merit/' Thus 
spoke the monster, and shrieked the name of 
Zoilus. The shades, who were to bear the same 
name after him, became obedient, and the mouth 
of the cave was filled with strange supercilious 
countenances, which all crowded to make their 
appearance. These began to march before him 
with an imitation of his mien and manners : some 
crowned with wild sorrel, others having leaves of 
dead bays mingled amongst it ; whilst the monster 
still described them as he passed, and touched 
each with a livid track of malignant light, that 
shot from her eye, to point where she meant the 
description. " They (says she) in the chaplets of 
wild sorrel, are my writers of prose, who erect 
scandal into criticism : they who wear the withered 
bay with it, are such who write poems, which are 
professedly to answer all rules, and be left for 



THE LIFE OF ZOILUS. 151 

patterns to men of genius . These that follow 
shall attack others, because they are excelled by 
them. The next rank shall make an author's 
being read a sufficient ground of opposition. Here 
march my grammarians, skilled to torture words ; 
there my sons of sophistry, ever ready to wrest a 
meaning. Observe how faint the foremost of the 
procession appear ; and how they are now lost in 
yonder mists, which roll about the cave of obli- 
vion ! This shows, it is not for themselves that 
they are to be known ; the world will consider 
them only as managing a part of thy endowments, 
and so know them by thy name while they live, 
that their own shall be lost for ever. But see 
how my cave still swarms ! how every age pro- 
duces men, upon whom the preservation of thy 
memory devolves. My darling, the fates have 
decreed it ! Thou art Zoilus, and Zoilus shall be 
eternal. Come, my serpents, applaud him with 
your hisses, that is all which now can be done ; in 
modern times, my sons shall invent louder instru- 
ments, and artificial imitations ; noises which 
drowning the voice of merit, shall furnish a concert 
to delight them." Here she arose to clasp him in 
her arms, a strange noise was heard, the critic 
started at it, and his vision forsook him. 

It was with some confusion that he lay musing 
awhile upon what he had seen ; but reflecting, 
that the goddess had given him no answer con- 
cerning his success in Egypt, he strengthened his 
heart in his ancient self-love and enmity to others, 



152 THE LIFE OF ZOILUS. 

and took all for an idle dream born of the fumes 
of indigestion, or produced by the dizzy motion of 
his voyage. In this opinion, he told it at his de- 
parture to the priest, who admiring the extraor- 
dinary relation, registered it in hieroglyphics at 
Canopus. 

The day when he came to Alexandria was one 
on which the king had appointed games to Apollo 
and the Muses, and honours and rewards for such 
writers as should appear in them. This he took 
for a happy omen at his entrance, and, not to lose 
an opportunity of showing himself, repaired im- 
mediately to the public theatre ; where, as if every 
thing was to favour him, the very first accident 
gave his spleen a diversion, which we find at large 
in the proem of the seventh book of Vitruvius. It 
happened that when the poets had recited, six of 
the judges decreed the prizes with a full approba- 
tion of all the audience. From this, Aristophanes 
alone dissented, and demanded the first prize for 
a person whose bashful and interrupted manner of 
speaking made him appear the most disgustful : 
for he, says the judge, is alone a poet, and all the 
rest reciters ; and they who are judges should not 
approve thefts, but writings. To maintain his as- 
sertion, those volumes were produced from whence 
they had been stolen: upon which, the king or- 
dered them to be formally tried for theft, and 
dismissed with infamy; but placed Aristophanes 
over his library, as one, who had given a proof of 
his knowledge in books. This passage Zoilus often 



THE LIFE OF ZOILUS. 153 

afterwards repeated with pleasure, for the number 
of disgraces which happened in it to the pretenders 
in poetry ; though his envy made him still careful 
not to name Aristophanes, but a judge in general. 

However, criticism had only a short triumph 
over poetry, when he made the next turn his own, 
by stepping forward into the place of reciting. 
Here he immediately raised the curiosity, and 
drew the attention of both king and people : but, 
as it happened, neither the one nor the other 
lasted ; for the first sentence where he had regis- 
tered his own name, satisfied their curiosity ; and 
the next, where he offered to prove to a court so 
devoted to Homer, that he was ridiculous in every 
thing, went near to finish his audience. He was 
nevertheless heard quietly for some time, till the 
king, seeing no end of his abusing the prince of 
philological learning (as Vitruvius words it), de- 
parted in disdain. The judges followed, deriding 
his attempt as an extravagance which could not 
demand their gravity; and the people taking a 
license from the precedent, hooted him away with 
obloquy and indignation. Thus Zoilus failed at 
his first appearance, and was forced to retire, 
stung with a most impatient sense of public con- 
tempt. 

Yet notwithstanding all this, he did not omit 
his attendance at court on the day following, with 
a petition that he might be put upon the establish- 
ment of learning, and allowed a pension. Thia 
the king read, but returned no answer : so great 



154 THE LIFE OE ZOILUS. 

was the scorn he conceived against him. But 
Zoilus still undauntedly renewed his petitions, till 
Ptolemy, being weary of his persecution, gave 
him a flat denial. Homer, says the prince, who 
has been dead these thousand years, has main- 
tained thousands of people ; and Zoilus, who boasts 
he has more wit than he, ought not only to main- 
tain himself, but many others also. 

His petitions being thrown carelessly about, 
were fallen into the hands of men of wit, whom, 
according to his custom, he had provoked, and 
whom it is unsafe to provoke if you would live 
unexposed. I can compare them to nothing more 
properly, than to the bee, a creature winged and 
lively, fond to rove through the choicest flowers of 
nature, and blest at home among the sweets of its 
own composition: not ill-natured, yet quick to 
revenge an injury ; not wearing its sting out of 
the sheath, yet able to wound more sorely than 
its appearance would threaten. Now these being 
made personal enemies by his malicious expres- 
sions, the court rung with petitions of Zoilus 
transversed ; new petitions drawn up for him ; 
catalogues of his merits, supposed to be collected 
by himself; his Complaints of Man's Injustice set 
to a Harp out of Tune, and a hundred other sports 
of fancy, with which their epigrams played upon 
him. These were the ways of writing which 
Zoilus hated, because they were not only read, 
but retained easily, by reason of their spirit, hu- 
mour, and brevity; and because they not only 



THE LIFE OF ZOILUS. 155 

make the man a jest upon whom they are written, 
but a further jest, if he attempt to answer them 
gravely. However, he did what he could in re- 
venge, he endeavoured to set those whom he en- 
vied at variance among themselves, and invented 
lies to promote his design. He told Eratosthenes, 
that Callimachus said, his extent of learning con- 
sisted but in a superficial knowledge of the 
sciences ; and whispered Callimachus, that Era- 
tosthenes only allowed him to have an artful habi- 
tual knack of versifying. He would have made 
Aristophanes believe, that Theocritus rallied his 
knowledge in editions, as a curious kind of tri- 
fling; and Theocritus, that Aristophanes derided 
the rustical simplicity of his shepherds. Though 
of all his stories, that which he most valued him- 
self for, was his constant report, that every one 
whom he hated was a friend to Antiochus king of 
Syria, the enemy of Ptolemy. 

But malice is unsuccessful when the character 
of its agent is known : they grew more friends to 
one another, by imagining, that even what had 
been said, as well as what had not, was all of 
Zoilus's invention ; and as he grew more and 
more the common jest, their derision of him 
became a kind of life and cement to their con- 
versation. 

Contempt, poverty, and other misfortunes had 
now so assaulted him, that even they who ab- 
horred his temper, contributed something to his: 
support, in common humanity. Yet still his envy. 



156 



THE LIFE OF ZOILUS. 



like a vitiated stomach, converted every kindness 
to the nourishment of his disease ; and it was the 
whole business of his life to revile Homer, and 
those by whom he himself subsisted. In this 
humour he had days, which were so given up to 
impatient ill-nature, that he could neither write 
any thing", nor converse with any one. These he 
sometimes employed in throwing stones at chil- 
dren ; which was once so unhappily returned upon 
him, that he was taken up for dead: and this 
occasioned the report in some authors, of his 
being stoned to death in Egypt. Or, sometimes 
he conveyed himself into the library, where he 
blotted the name of Homer wherever he could 
meet it, and tore the best editions of several vo- 
lumes ; for which the librarians debarred him the 
privilege of that place. These and other mischiefs 
made him universally shunned; nay, to such an 
extravagance was his character of envy carried, 
that the more superstitious Egyptians imagined 
they were fascinated by him, if the day were 
darker, or themselves a little heavier than ordi- 
nary ; some wore sprigs of rue, by way of preven- 
tion ; and others, rings made of the hoof of a 
wild ass for amulets, lest they should suffer, by 
his fixing an eye upon them. 

It was now near the time when that splendid 
temple which Ptolemy built in honour of Homer 
was to be opened with a solemn magnificence : for 
this the men of genius were employed in finding a 
proper pageant. At last, they agreed by one con- 



THE LIFE OF ZOILUS. 157 

sent, to have Zoilus, the utter enemy of Homer, 
hanged in effigy ; and the day being come, it was 
on this manner they formed the procession. 
Twelve beautiful boys, lightly habited in white, 
with purple wings, representing the Hours, went 
on the foremost: after these came a chariot, ex- 
ceeding high and stately, where sat one represent- 
ing Apollo, with another at his feet, who in this 
pomp sustained the person of Homer : Apollo's 
laurel had little gilded points, like the appearance 
of rays between its leaves ; Homer's was bound 
with a blue fillet, like that which is worn by the 
priests of the deity : Apollo was distinguished by 
the golden harp he bore ; Homer, by a volume, 
richly beautified with horns of inlaid ivory, and 
tassels of silver depending from them. Behind 
these came three chariots, in which rode nine 
damsels, each of them with that instrument which 
is proper to each of the Muses ; among whom, 
Calliope, to give her the honour of the day, sate 
in the middle of the second chariot, known by her 
richer vestments. After these marched a solemn 
train aptly habited, like those sciences which ac- 
knowledge their rise or improvement from this 
poet. Then the men of learning who attended 
the court, with wreaths, and rods or sceptres of 
laurel, as taking upon themselves the representa- 
tion of Rhapsodists, to do honour, for the time, to 
Homer. In the rear of all was slowly drawn 
along an odd carriage, rather than a chariot, 
which had its sides artfully turned, and carved so 



158 



THE LIFE OF ZOILUS. 



as to bear a resemblance to the heads of snarling 
mastiffs. In this was borne, as led in triumph, a 
tall image of deformity, whose head was bald, and 
wound about with nettles for a chaplet. The 
tongue lay lolling out, to show a contempt of 
mankind, and was forked at the end, to confess 
its love to detraction. The hands were manacled 
behind, and the fingers armed with long nails, to 
cut deep through the margins of authors. Its 
vesture was of the paper of Nilus, bearing in- 
scribed upon its breast in capital letters, zoilus 
the homero-mastix ; and all the rest of it was 
scrawled with various monsters of that river, as 
emblems of those productions with which that 
critic used to fill his papers. When they had 
reached the temple, where the king and his 
court w r ere already placed to behold them from 
its galleries, the image of Zoilus was hung upon 
a gibbet, there erected for it, with such loud 
acclamations as witnessed the people's satisfac- 
tion. This being finished, the Hours knocked 
at the gates, which flew open, and discovered 
the statue of Homer magnificently seated, with 
the pictures of those cities which contended for 
his birth, ranged in order around him. Then 
they who represented the deities in the pro- 
cession, laying aside their ensigns of divinity, 
ushered in the men of learning with a sound of 
voices, and their various instruments, to assist at 
a sacrifice in honour of Apollo and his favourite 
Homer. 



THE LIFE OF ZOILUS. 159 

It may be easily believed, that Zoilus concluded 
his affairs were at the utmost point of desperation 
in Egypt; wherefore, filled with pride, scorn, 
anger, vexation, envy, (and whatever could tor- 
ment him, except the knowledge of his unworthi- 
ness) he flung himself aboard the first ship which 
left that country. As it happened, the vessel he 
sailed in was bound for Asia Minor, and this 
landing him at a port the nearest to Smyrna, he 
was a little pleased amidst his misery, to think of 
decrying Homer in another place where he was 
adored, and which chiefly pretended to his birth. 
So incorrigible was his disposition, that no expe- 
rience taught him any thing which might contri- 
bute to his ease and safety. 

And as his experience .wrought nothing on him, 
so neither did the accidents, which the opinion of 
those times took for ominous warnings ; for, he is 
reported to have seen, the night he came to 
Smyrna, a venerable person, such as Homer is 
described by antiquity, threatening him in a 
dream ; and in the morning he found a part of 
his works gnawed by mice, which, says iElian, 
are of all beasts the most prophetic ; insomuch 
that they know when to leave a house, even before 
its fall is suspected. Envy, which has no relaxa- 
tion, still hurried him forward ; for it is certainly 
true that a man has not firmer resolution from 
reason, to stand by a good principle, than obsti- 
nacy from perverted nature, to adhere to a bad 
one. 



160 THE LIFE OJF ZOILUS. 

In the morning as he walked the street, he 
observed in some places inscriptions concerning 
Homer, which informed him where he lived, 
where he had taught school, and several other 
particularities which the Smyrneans glory to have 
recorded of him ; all which awakened and irritated 
the passions of Zoilus. But his temper was quite 
overthrown by the venerable appearance which he 
saw, upon entering the Homereum; which is a 
building composed of a library, porch, and temple, 
erected to Homer. Here a frenzy seized him 
which knew no bounds ; he raved violently against 
the poet and all his admirers ; he trampled on his 
works, he spurned about his commentators, he 
tore down his busts from the niches, threw the 
medals that were cast of him out of the windows, 
and passing from one place to another, beat the 
aged priests, and broke down the altar. The cries 
which were occasioned by this means brought in 
many upon him; who observed with horror how 
the most sacred honours of their city were pro- 
faned by the frantic impiety of a stranger; and 
immediately dragged him to punishment before 
their magistrates, who were then sitting. He 
was no sooner there, but known for Zoilus by 
some in court, a name a long time most hateful to 
Smyrna ; which, as it valued itself upon the birth 
of Homer, so bore more impatiently than other 
places, the abuses offered him. This made them 
eager to propitiate his shade, and claim to them- 
selves a second merit by the death of Zoilus ; 



THE LIFE OF ZOILUS. 161 

wherefore they sentenced him to suffer by fire, as 
the due reward of his desecrations ; and ordered, 
that their city should be purified by a lustration, 
for having* entertained so impious a guest. In 
pursuance to this sentence, he was led away with 
his compositions borne before him by the public 
executioner. Then was he fastened to the stake, 
prophesying all the while how many should arise 
to revenge his quarrel ; particularly, that when 
Greek should be no more a language, there shall 
be a nation which will both translate Homer into 
prose, and contract him in verse. At last, his 
compositions were lighted to set the pile on fire, 
and he expired sighing for the loss of them, more 
than for the pain he suffered : and perhaps too, 
because he might foresee in his prophetic rapture, 
that there should arise a poet in another nation, 
able to do Homer justice, and make him known 
amongst his people to future ages. 

Thus died this noted critic, of whom we may 
observe from the course of the history, that as 
several cities contended for the honour of the birth 
of Homer, so several have contended for the 
honour of the death of Zoilus. With him like- 
wise perished his great work on the Iliad, and the 
Odyssey ; concerning which we observe also, 
tha<: as the known worth of Homer's poetry makes 
hinj survive himself with glory, so the bare me- 
mory of Zoilus's criticism makes him survive 
himself with infamy. These are deservedly the 
consequences of that ill-nature which made him 

R 



162 THE LIFE OF ZOILUS. 

fond of detraction; that envy, which made him 
choose so excellent a character for its object ; and 
those partial methods of injustice with which he 
treated the object he had chosen. 

Yet how many commence critics after him, 
upon the same unhappy principles ? How many 
labour to destroy the monuments of the dead, and 
summon up the great from their graves to answer 
for trifles before them ? How many, by misrepre- 
sentations, both hinder the world from favouring 
men of genius, and discourage them in themselves; 
like boughs of a baneful and barren nature, that 
shoot across a fruit tree ; at once to screen the 
sun from it, and hinder it by their droppings from 
producing anything of value ? But if these who 
thus follow Zoilus, meet not the same severities of 
fate, because they come short of his indefatigable - 
ness, or their object is not so universally the con- 
cern of mankind, they shall nevertheless meet a 
proportion of it in the inward trouble they give 
themselves, and the outward contempt others fling 
upon them : a punishment which every one has 
hitherto felt, who has really deserved to be called 
a Zoilus ; and which will always be the natural 
reward of such men's actions, as long as Zoilus is 
the proper name of envy. 



163 



REMARKS. 

Ingenium magni livor detractat amici, 
Quisquis et ex illo, Zoile, nomen habes. 

I must do my reader the justice, before I enter 
upon these notes of Zoilus, to inform him, that I 
have not in any author met this work ascribed to 
him by its title, which has made me not mention 
it in the life- But thus much in general appears, 
that he wrote several thing's besides his censure 
on the Iliad, which, as it gives ground for this 
opinion, encourages me to offer an account of the 
treatise. 

Being acquainted with a grave gentleman who 
searches after editions, purchases manuscripts, 
and collects copies, I applied to him for some 
editions of this poem, which he readily obliged me 
with. But, added he, taking down a paper, I 
doubt I shall discourage you from your transla- 
tion, when I show this work, which is written 
upon the original, by Zoilus, the famous adversary 
of Homer. Zoilus ! said I with surprise ; I 
thought his works had long since perished. They 
have so, answered he, all except this little piece, 



164 ZOILUS'S REMARKS. 

which has a preface annexed to it accounting for 
its preservation. It seems, when he parted from 
Macedon, he left this behind him where he lodged, 
and where no one entered for a long time, in 
detestation of the odiousness of his character, 
until Maevius arriving there in his travels, and 
being desirous to lie in the same room, luckily 
found it, and brought it away with him. This the 
author of the preface imagines the reason of 
Horace's wishing Maevius, in the tenth epode, 
such a shipwreck as Homer describes ; as it were 
with an eye to his having done something disad- 
vantageous to that poet. From Maevius, the 
piece came into the hand of Carbilius Pictor (who, 
when he wrote against Virgil, called his book, 
with a respectful imitation of Zoilus, the iEneido- 
mastix) and from him into the hands of others 
who are unknown, because the world applied to 
them no other name than that of Zoilus, in order 
to sink their own in oblivion. Thus it ever found 
some learned philologist or critic to keep it secret 
from the rage of Homer's admirers ; yet not so 
secret, but that it has still been communicated 
among the literati. I am of opinion, that our 
great Scaliger borrowed it, to work him up when 
he writ so sharply against Cardan ; and perhaps 
Le Clerc too, when he proved Q. Curtius ignorant 
of every particular branch of learning. 

This formal account made me give attention to 
what the book contained ; and I must acknow- 



ZOILUS's REMARKS. 165 

ledge, that whether it be his, or the work of some 
grammarian, it appears to be writ in his spirit. 
The open profession of enmity to great geniuses, 
and the fear of nothing so much as that he may 
not be able to find faults enough, are such resem- 
blances of his strongest features, that any one 
might take it for his own production. To give 
the world a notion of this, I have made a collec- 
tion of some remarks, which most struck me, 
during that short time in which I w T as allowed to 
peruse the manuscript. 



166 



THE REMARKS OF ZOILUS UPON HOMER'S 
BATTLE OF THE FROGS AND MICE. 



P. 47. v. 1. To fill my rising song.] As Pro- 
tagoras the sophist found fault with the begin- 
ning of the Iliad, for its speaking to the Muse 
rather with an abrupt command, than a solemn 
invocation ; so I, says Zoilus, do on the other 
hand find fault with him for using any invoca- 
tion at all before this poem, or any such trifles 
as he is the author of. If he must use one, 
Protagoras is in the right ; if not, I am : this 
I hold for true criticism, notwithstanding the 
opinion of Aristotle against us. Nor let any 
one lay a stress on Aristotle in this point ; he, 
alas ! knows nothing of poetry but what he has 
read in Homer; his rules are all extracted from 
him, or founded in him. In short, Homer 9 s Works 
are the examples of Aristotle's precepts; and 
Aristotle's precepts the methods Homer wrought 
by. From hence it is to be concluded as the 
opinion of this critic, that whoever would entirely 
destroy the reputation of Homer, must renounce 
the authority of Aristotle be fore -hand. The rules 
of building may be of service to us, if we design 
to judge of an edifice, and discover what may be 



THE REMARKS OF ZOILUS. 167 

amiss in it for the advantage of future artificers ; 
but they are of no use to those who only intend to 
overthrow it utterly. 

After the word (song,) in the first line the ori- 
ginal adds, (what I have written in my tablets,) 
These words, which are dropped in the translation 
as of no consequence, the great Zoilus has thought 
fit to expunge ; asserting for a reason, without 
backing it with farther proof, that tablets were 
not of so early invention. Now, it must be 
granted, this manner of proving by affirmation 
is of an extraordinary nature ; but however it has 
its end with a set of readers for whom it is 
adapted. One part of the world knows not with 
what assurance another part can express itself. 
They imagine a reasonable creature will not have 
the face to say any thing which has not some 
shadow of reason to support it ; and run implicitly 
into the snare which is laid for good -nature, by 
these daring authors of definitive sentences upon 
bare assertion. 

P. 47. v. 15. Whom cats pursued.] The Greek 
word here expressly signifies & cat : Zoilus, whom 
Perizonius follows, affirms, they were weasels which 
the mouse fled from ; and then objects against 
its probability. But it is common with one sort 
of critics, to show ■ an author means differently 
from what he really did ; and then to prove, that 
the meaning which they find out for him is good 
for nothing. 

P. 40. v. 5. If worthy friendship.] In this 



168 THE REMARKS OF ZOILUS. 

proposal begins the moral of the whole piece, 
which* is, that hasty, ill-founded, or unnatural 
friendships and leagues, will naturally end in war 
and discord. But Zoilus, who is here mightily 
concerned to take off from Homer all the honour 
of having designed a moral, asserts on the other 
hand, That the poet's whole intent teas to make 
a fable ; that a fable he has made, and one 
very idle and trifling ; that many things are 
ascribed to Homer, which poor Homer never 
dreamed of ; and he who finds them out, rather 
shows his own parts than discovers his author s 
beauties. In this opinion has he been followed 
by several of those critics, who only dip into 
authors when they have occasion to write against 
them : and yet even these shall speak diffe- 
rently concerning the writers, if the question be 
of their own performances ; for to their own works 
they write prefaces, to display the grandness of 
the moral, regularity of the scheme, number and 
brightness of the figures, and a thousand other 
excellencies, which if they did not tell, no one 
would ever imagine. For others, they write 
remarks, which tend to contract their excellencies 
within the narrow compass of their partial appre- 
hension. It were well if they could allow such to 
be as wise as themselves, whom the world allows 
to be much wiser: but their being naturally 
friends to themselves, and professedly adversaries 
to some greater genius, easily accounts for these 
different manners of speaking. I will not leave 



THE REMARKS OF ZOILUS. 169 

this note, without giving* you an instance of its 
practice in the great Julius Scaliger : he has 
been free enough with Homer in the remarks he 
makes upon him ; but when he speaks of himself, 
I desire my reader would take notice of his 
modesty; I give his own words, Lib. 3. Poet. 
Cap. 112. In Deum Patrem Hymnum cum 
scriberemus, tanquam rerum omnium conditorem, 
ab orbis ipsius creatione ad nos nostraque usque 
duximus. — In quo abduximus animum nostrum 
a corporis car cere ad liber os campos contempla- 
tions, quae me in ilium transformaret. Turn 
autem sanctissimi Spiritus ineffabilis vigor ille 
tanto ardore celebratus est, ut cum lenissimis 
numeris esset inchoatus Hymnus, repentino di- 
vini ignis impetu conflagravit. 

P. 49. v. 4. The circled loaves.] Zoilus here 
finds fault with the mention of loaves, tripes, 
bacon, and cheese, as words below the dignity 
of the epic, as much (says he) as it would 
be to have opprobrious names given in it. By 
which expression we easily see, he hints at the 
first book of the Iliad. Now, we must consider in 
answer, that it is a mouse which is spoken of, that 
eating is the most apparent characteristic of that 
creature, that these foods are such as please it 
most; and to have described particular pleasures 
for it in any other way, would have been as in- 
congruous as to have described a haughty loud 
anger without those names which it throws out in 
its fierceness, and which raise it to its pitch of 



170 THE REMARKS OF ZOILUS. 

frenzy. In the one instance you still see a mouse 
before, you, however, the poet raises it to a man; 
in the other, you shall see a man before you ; 
however, the poet raises him to a demi-god. But 
some call that low, which others call natural. 
Every thing has two handles, and the critic who 
sets himself to censure all he meets, is under an 
obligation still to lay hold on the worst of them. 

P. 49. v. 26. But me, nor stalks.] In this 
place Zoilus laughs at the ridiculousness of the 
poet, who (according to his representation) makes 
a prince refuse an invitation in heroicks, because 
he did not like the meat he was invited to. And, 
that the ridicule may appear in as strong a light 
to others as to himself, he puts as much of the 
speech as concerns it into burlesque airs and ex- 
pressions. This is indeed a common trick with 
remarkers, which they either practise by precedent 
from their master Zoilus, or are beholden for it to 
the same turn of temper. We acknowledge it a 
fine piece of satire, when there is folly in a pas- 
sage, to lay it open in the way by which it natu- 
rally requires to be exposed : do this handsomely, 
and the author is deservedly a jest. If, on the 
contrary, you dress a passage which was not ori- 
ginally foolish, in the highest humour of ridicule, 
you only frame something which the author him- 
self might laugh at, without being more nearly 
concerned than another reader. 

P. 50. v. 25. So pass'd Europa.] This simile 
makes Zoilus, who sets up for a professed enemy 



THE REMARKS OF ZOILUS. 171 

of fables, to exclaim violently. We had, says 
he, a frog and a mouse hitherto, and now we 
get a bull and a princess to illustrate their 
actions : when will there be an end of this 
fabling -folly and poetry, which I value myself 
for being unacquainted with ? great Poly- 
crates, how happily hast thou observed in thy 
accusation against Socrates, that whatever he 
was before, he deserved his poison when he 
began to make verses ! Now, if the question be 
concerning Homer's good or bad poetry, this is an 
unqualifying speech, which affords his friends just 
grounds of exception against the critic. Where- 
fore, be it known to all present and future censors, 
who have, or shall presume to glory in an igno- 
rance of poetry, and at the same time take upon 
them to judge of poets, that they are in all their 
degrees for ever excluded the post they would 
usurp. In the first place, they who know neither 
the use, nor practice of the art ; in the second, 
they who know it but by halves, who have hearts 
insensible of the beauties of poetry, and are, how- 
ever, able to find fault by rules ; and thirdly, they 
who, when they are capable of perceiving beauties 
and pointing out defects, are still so ignorant in 
the nature of their business as to imagine the 
province of criticism extends itself only on the 
side of dispraise and reprehension. How could 
any one at this rate be seen with his proper ba- 
lance of perfection and error ? Or what were the 
best performances in this indulgence of ill-nature, 



172 THE REMARKS OF ZOILUS. 

but as apartments hung with the deformities of 
humanity, done by some great hand, which are 
the more to be abhorred, because the praise and 
honour they receive results from the degree of 
uneasiness to which they put every temper of 
common goodness ? 

P. 51. v. 26. Ye mice, ye mice.] The ancients 
believed that heroes were turned into demi-gods 
at their death ; and in general, that departing 
souls have something of a sight into futurity. It 
is either this notion, or a care which the gods 
may take to abate the pride of insulting adver- 
saries, which a poet goes upon, when he makes 
his leaders die foretelling the end of those by 
whom they are slain. Zoilus, however, is against 
this passage. He says, that every character 
ought to be strictly kept : that a general ought 
not to invade the character of a prophet, nor a 
prophet of a general. He is positive, that nothing 
should be done by any one, without having been 
hinted at in some previous account of him. And 
this, he asserts, without any allowance made either 
for a change of states, or the design of the gods. 
To confirm this observation, he strengthens it with 
a quotation out of his larger work on the Iliad, 
where he has these words upon the death of Hec- 
tor : How foolish is it in Homer to make Hector 
(who through the whole course of the Iliad had 
made use of Helenus, to learn the will of the 
gods) become a prophet just at his death ? Let 
every one be what he ought, without falling into 



THE REMARKS OF ZOILUS. 173 

those parts which others are to sustain in a 
poem. This he has said, not distinguishing rightly 
between our natural dispositions and accidental 
offices. And this he has said again, not minding, 
that though it be taken from another book, it is 
still from the same author. However, vanity loves 
to gratify itself by the repetition of what it esteems 
to be written with spirit, and even when we repeat 
it ourselves, provided another hears us. Hence 
has he been followed by a magisterial set of men, 
who quote themselves, and swell their new per- 
formances with what they admire in their former 
treatises. This is a most extraordinary knack of 
arguing, whereby a man can never want a proof, 
if he be allowed to become an authority for his 
own opinion. 

P. 52. v. 15. And no kind billow.] How im- 
pertinent is this case of pity, says Zoilus, to 
bemoan, that the prince was not tossed towards 
land : it is enough he lost his life, and there is 
an end of his suffering where there is an end of 
his feeling. To carry the matter farther is just 
the same foolish management as Homer has 
shown in his Iliads, which he spins out into forty 
trifles beyond the death of Hector. But the 
critic must allow me to put the readers in mind, 
that death was not the last distress the ancients 
believed was to be met upon earth. The last was 
the remaining unburied, which had this misery 
annexed, that while the body was without its 
funeral rites in this world, the soul was supposed 



174 THE REMARKS OF ZOILUS. 

to be without rest in the next, which was the case 
of the mouse before us. And accordingly the 
Ajax of Sophocles continues after the death of 
its hero more than an act, upon the contest con- 
cerning his burial. All this Zoilus knew very 
well : but Zoilus is not the only one who disputes 
for victory rather than truth. These foolish cri- 
tics write even things they themselves can answer, 
to show how much they can write against an 
author. They act unfairly, that they may be sure 
to be sharp enough ; and trifle with the reader, in 
order to be voluminous. It is needless to wish 
them the return they deserve : their disregard to 
candour is no sooner discovered, but they are for 
ever banished from the eyes of men of sense, and 
condemned to wander from stall to stall, for a 
temporary refuge from that oblivion which they 
cannot escape. 

P. 53. v. 9. Our eldest perish'd.] Zoilus has 
here taken the recapitulation of those misfor- 
tunes which happened to the royal family, as an 
impertinence that expatiates from the subject ; 
though indeed there seems nothing more proper 
to raise that sort of compassion, which was to 
inflame his audience to war. But what appears 
extremely pleasant is, that at the same time he 
condemns the passage, he should make use of it 
as an opportunity to fall into an ample digression 
on the various kinds of mouse-traps, and display 
that minute learning which every critic of his 
sort is fond to show himself master of. This they 



THE REMARKS OF ZOILUS. 175 

imagine is tracing of knowledge through its hidden 
veins, and bringing discoveries to day-light, which 
time had covered over. Indefatigable and useless 
mortals ! who value themselves for knowledge of 
no consequence, and think of gaining applause by 
what the reader is careful to pass over unread. 
What did the disquisition signify formerly, whe- 
ther Ulysses's son, or his dog, was the elder ? or 
how can the account of a vesture, or a player's 
masque, deserve that any should write the bulk of 
a treatise, or others read it when it is written ? A 
vanity thus poorly supported, which neither affords 
pleasure nor profit, is the unsubstantial amuse- 
ment of a dream to ourselves, and a provoking 
occasion of our derision to others. 

P. 54. v. 3, 4. Quills aptly bound — Facd 
with the plunder of a cat they Jlay'd.] This 
passage is something difficult in the original, 
which gave Zoilus the opportunity of inventing an 
expression, which his followers conceitedly use 
when any thing appears dark to them. This, say 
they, let Phoebus explain ; as if what exceeds 
their capacity, must of necessity demand oracular 
interpretations, and an interposal of the god of 
wit and learning. The basis of such arrogance is 
the opinion they have of that knowledge they 
ascribe to themselves. They take criticism to be 
beyond every other part of learning, because it 
gives judgment upon books written in every other 
part. They think, in consequence, that every 
critic must be a greater genius than any author 



176 THE REMARKS OF ZOILUS. 

whom he censures ; and therefore if they esteem 
themselves critics, they set enthroned in fancy at 
the head of literature. Criticism indeed deserves 
a noble elogy, when it is enlarged by such a 
comprehensive learning as Aristotle and Cicero 
were masters of ; when it adorns its precepts with 
the consummate exactness of Quintilian, or is 
exalted into the sublime sentiments of Longinus. 
But let not such men tell us they participate in 
the glory of these great men, and place themselves 
next to Phoebus, who, like Zoilus, entangle an 
author in the wrangles of grammarians, or try 
him with a positive air and barren imagination, 
by the set of rules they have collected out of 
others. 

P. 54. v. 17. Ye frogs, the mice.] At this 
speech of the herald's, which recites the cause of 
the war, Zoilus is angry with the author, for not 
finding out a cause entirely just ; for, says he, 
it appears not from his own fable, that Physig- 
nathus invited the prince with any malicious 
intention to make him away. To this we answer, 
1st, That it is not necessary in relating facts to 
make every war have a just beginning. 2nd, 
This doubtful cause agrees better with the moral, 
by showing, that ill-founded leagues have acci- 
dents to destroy them, even without the intention 
of parties. 3d, There was all appearance ima- 
ginable against the frogs ; and if we may be 
allowed to retort on our adversary the practice of 
his posterity, there is more humanity in an hos- 



THE REMARKS OF ZOILUS. 177 

tility proclaimed upon the appearance of injustice 
done us, than in their custom of attacking the 
works of others as soon as they come out, purely 
because they are esteemed to be good. Their per- 
formances, which could derive no merit from their 
own names, are then sold upon the merit of their 
antagonist : and if they are so sensible of fame, or 
even of envy, they have the mortification to re- 
member, how much by this means they become 
indebted to those they injure. 

P. 55. v. 10. Where high the banks.] This 
project is not put in practice during the following 
battle, by reason of the fury of the combatants : 
yet the mention of it is not impertinent in this 
place, forasmuch as the probable face of success 
which it carries with it tended to animate the 
frogs. Zoilus however cannot be so satisfied ; It 
were better, says he, to cut it entirely out ; 
nor would Homer be the worse if half of him 
were served in the same manner ; so, continues 
he, they will find it, whoever in any country 
shall hereafter undertake so odd a task, as that 
of translating him. Thus envy finds words to 
put in the mouth of ignorance ; and the time will 
come, when ignorance shall repeat what envy has 
pronounced so rashly. 

P. 56. v. 1. And tapering sea-reeds.] If we 
here take the reed for that of our own growth, it 
is no spear to match the long sort of needles with 
which the mice had armed themselves ; but the 
cane, which is rather intended, has its splinters 
s 



178 THE REMARKS OF ZOILUS. 

stiff and sharp, to answer all the uses of a spear in 
battle.. Nor is it here to be lightly passed over, 
since Zoilus moves a question upon it, that the 
poet could not choose a more proper weapon for 
the frogs, than that which they choose for them- 
selves in a defensive war they maintain with the 
serpents of Nile. They have this stratagem, 
says iElian, to protect themselves ; they swim 
with pieces of cane across their mouths, of too 
great a length for the breadth of the serpents' 
throats ; by which means they are preserved 
from being swallowed by them. This is a quo- 
tation so much to the point, that I ought to have 
ushered in my author with more pomp to dazzle 
the reader. Zoilus and his followers, who seldom 
praise any man, are however careful to do it for 
their own sakes, if at any time they get an author 
of their opinion : though indeed it must be allowed, 
they still have a drawback in their manner of 
praise, and rather choose to drop the name of their 
man, or darkly hint him in a periphrasis, than to 
have it appear that they have directly assisted the 
perpetuating of any one's memory. Thus, if a 
Dutch critic were to introduce, for example, Mar- 
tial, he would, instead of naming him, say Inge- 
niosus ille Epigrammaticus Bilbilicus. Or, if 
one of our own were to quote from among our- 
selves, he would tell us how it has been remarked 
in the works of a learned writer, to whom the 
world is obliged for many excellent productions, 
&c. All which proceeding is like boasting of our 



THE REMARKS OF ZOILUS. 179 

great friends, when it is to do ourselves an honour, 
or the shift of dressing* up one who might other- 
wise be disregarded, to make him pass upon the 
world for a responsible voucher to our own asser- 
tions. 

P. 56. v. 5. But now where Jove's.] At this 
fine episode, in which the gods are introduced, 
Zoilus has no patience left him to remark, but 
runs some lines with a long string of such expres- 
sions, as trifler, fabler, liar, foolish, impious, 
all which he lavishly heaps upon the poet. From 
this knack of calling names, joined with the 
several arts of finding fault, it is to be suspected, 
that our Zoiluses might make very able libellers, 
and dangerous men to the government, if they did 
not rather turn themselves to be ridiculous cen- 
sors: for which reason I cannot but reckon the 
state obliged to men of wit : and under a kind of 
debt in gratitude, when they take off so much 
spleen, turbulency, and ill-nature, as might other- 
wise spend itself to the detriment of the public. 

P. 56. v. 21. If my daughter's mind.] This 
speech, which Jupiter speaks to Pallas with a 
pleasant kind of air, Zoilus takes gravely to pieces, 
and affirms, It is below Jupiter s wisdom, and 
only agreeable with Homer s folly, that he 
should borrow a reason for her assisting the mice 
from their attendance in the temple, when they 
waited to prey upon those things which were 
sacred to her. But the air of the speech ren- 
dering a grave answer unnecessaiy, I shall only 



180 THE REMARKS OF ZOILUS. 

offer Zoilus an observation in return for his. There 
are upon the stone which is carved for the apo- 
theosis of Homer, figures of mice by his foot-stool, 
which, according to Cuperus, its interpreter, some 
have taken to signify this poem ; and others those 
critics, who tear or vilify the works of great men. 
Now if such can be compared to mice, let the 
words of Zoilus be brought home to himself and 
his followers for their mortification : That no one 
ought to think of meriting in the state of learn- 
ing only by debasing the best performances, and 
as it were preying upon those things which 
should be sacred in it. 

P. 57. v. 2. In vain my father.] The speech 
of Pallas is disliked by Zoilus, because it makes 
the goddess carry a resentment against such 
inconsiderable creatures ; though he ought to 
esteem them otherwise when they represent the 
persons and actions of men, and teach us how the 
gods disregard those in their adversities who pro- 
voke them in their prosperity. But, if we consider 
Pallas as the patroness of learning, we may by an 
allegorical application of the mice and frogs, find 
in this speech two sorts of enemies to learning ; 
they who are maliciously mischievous, as the 
mice ; and they who are turbulent through osten- 
tation, as the frogs. The first are enemies to 
excellency upon principle ; the second accidentally 
by the error of self-love, which does not quarrel 
with the excellence itself, but only with those 
people who get more praise than themselves by it. 



THE REMARKS OF ZOILUS. 181 

Thus, though they have not the same perverse- 
ness with the others, they are however drawn into 
the same practices, while they ruin reputations, 
lest they should not seem to be learned ; as some 
women turn prostitutes, lest they should not be 
thought handsome enough to have admirers. 

P. 59. v. 5. Their dreadful trumpets.] Upon 
the reading of this, Zoilus becomes full of dis- 
coveries. He recollects, that Homer makes his 
Greeks come to battle with silence, and his 
Trojans with shouts ; from whence he discovers, 
that he knew nothing of trumpets. Again, he 
sees, that the hornet is made a trumpeter to the 
battle ; and hence he discovers, that the line 
must not be Homer s. Now had he drawn his 
consequences fairly, he could only have found by 
the one, that trumpets were not in use at the 
taking of Troy ; and by the other, that the battle 
of frogs and mice was laid by the Poet for a later 
scene of action than that of the Iliad. But the 
boast of discoveries accompanies the affectation of 
knowledge ; and the affectation of knowledge is 
taken up with a design to gain a command over 
the opinions of others. It is too heavy a task for 
some critics to sway our rational judgments by 
rational inferences ; a pompous pretence must 
occasion admiration, the eyes of mankind must be 
obscured by a glare of pedantry, that they may 
consent to be led blindfold, and permit that an 
opinion should be dictated to them without de- 
manding that they may be reasoned into it. 



182 THE REMARKS OF ZOILUS. 

P. 60. v. 4. Big Seutlseus tumbling.] Zoilus 
has happened to brush the dust off some old 
manuscript, in which the line that kills Seutlaeus 
is wanting. And for this cause he fixes a 
general conclusion, that there is no dependance 
upon any thing which is handed down for 
Homer 's, so as to allow it praise ; since the 
different copies vary amongst themselves. But 
is it fair in Zoilus, or any of his followers, to 
oppose one copy to a thousand ? and are they 
impartial who would pass this upon us for an 
honest balance of evidence ? When there is such 
an inequality on each side, is it not more than 
probable that the number carry the author's sense 
in them, and the single one its transcriber's errors? 
It is folly or madness of passion to be thus given 
over to partiality and prejudices. Men may flou- 
rish as much as they please concerning the value 
of a new found edition, in order to bias the world 
to particular parts of it ; but in a matter easily 
decided by common sense, it will still continue of 
its own opinion. 

P. 6 1 . v. 2 1 . With Borbocsetes fights.] Through 
the grammatical part of Zoilus's work he frequently 
rails at Homer for his dialects. These, says he 
in one place, the poet made use of because he 
could not write pure Greek; and in another, 
they strangely contributed to his fame, by mak- 
ing several cities who observed something of their 
own in his mixed language, contend for his 
being one of their natives. Now since I have 



THE REMARKS OF ZOILUS. 183 

here practised a license in imitation of his, by 
shortening the word Borbocsetes a whole syllable, 
it seems a good opportunity to speak for him 
where I defend myself. Remember then, that 
any great genius who introduces poetry into a 
language, has a power to polish it, and of all the 
manners of speaking then in use, to settle that 
for poetical which he judges most adapted to the 
art. Take notice too, that Homer has not only 
done this for necessity, but for ornament, since he 
uses various dialects to humour his sense with 
sounds which are expressive of it. Thus much in 
behalf of my author to answer Zoilus : as for 
myself, who deal with his followers, I must argue 
from necessity, that the word was stubborn, and 
would not ply to the quantities of an English 
verse, and therefore I altered it by the dialect we 
call poetical, which makes my line so much 
smoother, that I am ready to cry with their bro- 
ther Lipsius, when he turned an O into an I, Vel 
ego me amo, vel me amavit Phoebus quando hoc 
correxi. To this let me add a recrimination upon 
some of them. As first, such as choose words 
written after the manner of those who preceded 
the purest age of a language, without the necessity 
I have pleaded, as regundi for regendi, perduit 
for perdidit, which restoration of obsolete words 
deserves to be called a critical license or dialect. 
2ndly, Those who pretending to verse without an 
ear, use the poetical dialect of abbreviation, so 
that the lines shall run the rougher for it. And 



184 THE REMARKS OF ZOILUS. 

3dly, Those who presume by their critical licenses 
to alter Ithe spellings of words ; an affectation which 
destroys the etymology of a language, and being 
carried on by private hands for fancy or fashion, 
would be a thing we should never have an end of. 

P. 64. v. 21. Nor Pallas, Jove.] / cannot, 
says Zoilus, reflect upon this speech of Mars, 
where a mouse is opposed to the god of war, the 
goddess of valour, the thunder of Jupiter, and 
all the gods at once, but I rejoice to think that 
Pythagoras saw Homer s soul in Hell, hanging 
on a tree, and surrounded with serpents, for 
what he said of the gods. Thus he who hates 
fables answers one with another, and can rejoice 
in them when they flatter his envy. He appears 
at the head of his squadron of critics, in the full 
spirit of one utterly devoted to a party; with 
whom truth is a lie, or as bad as a lie, when it 
makes against him ; and false quotations, pass for 
truth, or as good as truth, when they are necessary 
to a cause. 

P. 66. v. 20. And a whole war.] Here, says 
Zoilus, is an end of a very foolish poem, of 
which by this time I have effectually convinced 
the world, and silenced all such for the future, 
who, like Homer, write fables to which others 
find morals, characters whose justness is ques- 
tioned, unnecessary digressions, and impious 
episodes. But what assurance can such as Zoilus 
have, that the world will ever be convinced against 
an established reputation, by such people whose 



THE REMARKS OF ZOILUS. 185 

faults in writing are so very notorious ; who judge 
against rules, affirm without reasons, and censure 
without manners : who quote themselves for a 
support of their opinions, found their pride upon a 
learning in trifles, and their superiority upon the 
claims they magisterially make ; who write of 
beauties in a harsh style, judge of excellency with 
a lowness of spirit, and pursue their desire to 
deciy it with every artifice of envy. There is no 
disgrace in being censured, where there is no 
credit to be favoured. But, on the contrary, envy 
gives a testimony of some perfection in another ; 
and one who is attacked by many, is like a hero 
whom his enemies acknowledge for such > when 
tbey point all the spears of a battle against him. 
In short, an author who writes for every age, may 
even erect himself a monument of those stones 
which envy throws at him : while the critic who 
writes against him can have no fame because he 
had no success ; or if he fancies he may succeed, 
he should remember, that by the nature of his 
undertaking he would but undermine his own 
foundation ; for he is to sink of course, when the 
book which he writes against, and for which alone 
he is read, is lost in disrepute or oblivion. 



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